“We’d better dress him now, hadn’t we?” suggested Mrs. Mile, coming forward. She spoke in her agreeing voice; Mrs. Mile’s voice agreed beforehand that her patients should agree with her.
“I will dress him,” said Cicely, rising.
“I wouldn’t, now, if I were you, Mrs. Morrison; you’re not strong enough.”
“Where is my dress?” asked Cicely, looking about her.
“You don’t want anything, surely, but your pretty blue wrapper?” said Mrs. Mile, taking it from its nail.
“Bring me my thick dress and my walking-shoes, please.”
Eve came in while Cicely was dressing.
“Eve, who is this person?” Cicely demanded, indicating the nurse with a sideward wave of her head.
“Oh, I’m just a lady’s maid—they thought you’d better have one; Porley, in that way, you know, isn’t good for much,” answered Mrs. Mile, readily.