“Now what nonsense. Saxby will be furiously disappointed. You must. Come along, Michael, be a brave chap and tell your mother she’s got to go out; and here’s something to square our account.”
He pressed a little gold coin into Michael’s unwilling hand.
“Would you mind very much, if I went?” his mother asked.
“No,” said Michael tonelessly. The room was swimming round him in sickening waves of disappointment.
“Of course he won’t,” decided Mr. Prescott boisterously.
While he was being undressed, Nurse asked what he was holding. Michael showed the half-sovereign.
“Spoiling children,” muttered Nanny. “That’s for your money-box.”
Michael did not care what it was for. He was listening for his mother’s step. She came in, while he lay round-eyed in his cot, and leaned over to kiss him. He held her to him passionately; then he buried his face in the bedclothes and, while she rustled away from him, sobbed soundlessly for a long while.
In the morning he watched her go away until the warm summer-time and felt abandoned as he walked through the wintry rooms, where lately he and his mother had sat by the fire. As for the ten-shilling piece, he thought no more about it. Soon afterwards he fell ill with whooping-cough, he and Stella together, and the days dragged unendurably in the stuffy nursery away from school.