“But you must apply to someone. Something must be done. You see I can’t, I shan’t be able to go on indefinitely.”
Miss Dear’s face broke into weeping. Miriam sat smarting under her own brutality ... poverty is brutalising, she reflected miserably, excusing herself. It makes you helpless and makes sick people fearful and hateful. It ought not to be like that. One can’t even give way to one’s natural feelings. What ought she to have done? To have spoken gently ... you see dear ... she could hear women’s voices saying it ... my resources are not unlimited, we must try and think what is the best thing to be done ... humbug ... they would be feeling just as frightened just as self-protecting, inside. There were people in books who shouldered things and got into debt, just for any casual, helpless, person. But it would have to come on somebody, in the end. What then? Bustling people with plans ... ‘it’s no good sitting still waiting for Providence’ ... but that was just what one wanted to avoid ... it had been wonderful, sometimes in the little room. It was that that had been outraged. It was as if she had struck a blow.
“I have done something dear.”
“What?”
“I’ve sent for Dr. Ashley-Densley.”
2
“There is our gentleman,” said Miss Dear tranquilly just before midnight. Miriam moved away and stood by the window as the door split wide and a tall grey-clad figure plunged lightly into the room. Miriam missed his first questions in her observations of his well-controlled fatigue and annoyance, his astonishing height and slenderness and the curious wise softness of his voice. Suddenly she realised that he was going. He was not going to take anything in hand or do anything. He had got up from the chair by the bedside and was scribbling something on an envelope ... no sleep for two nights he said evenly in the soft musical girlish tones. A prescription ... then he’d be off.
“Do you know Thomas’s?” he said colourlessly.
“Do you know Thomas’s—the chemist—in Baker Street?” he said casting a half-glance in her direction as he wrote on.
“I do,” said Miriam coldly.