“Oh, but I’m young enough to sleep anywhere—on the floor! But let Aunt Sophia choose.”
Henrietta went back to the drawing-room, and the housemaid was sent for the doctor. Shortly afterwards there came a ring at the bell; no doubt it was the doctor, and Henrietta wished she could go upstairs with him, for Aunt Rose, she told herself again, was not a practical person and Henrietta was experienced in illness. She had nursed her mother and she liked looking after people. She knew how to arrange pillows; she was not afraid of sickness. However, she would have to wait until Aunt Sophia sent for her; but it was not the doctor: it was Charles Batty who appeared in the doorway.
“Oh,” Henrietta said, “what have you come for?”
He put down the hat and stick he had forgotten to leave in the hall. “I don’t know,” he said. “I had a kind of feeling you might like to see me. It’s the first time I’ve had it,” he added solemnly.
He really had an extraordinary way of knowing things, but she said, “Well, Aunt Sophia’s ill, so I don’t think you can stay.”
He looked round for her. “She’s not here. I shan’t do any harm, shall I? We can whisper.”
“She wouldn’t hear us anyhow. It’s my room above this one.”
“Is it?” He gazed at the ceiling with interest. “Oh, up there!”
“I should have thought you knew by instinct,” she said bitingly.
“No.”