The doctor hurried away, leaving Rose to assimilate the difference between Mrs. Jim Aviolet sending for the doctor to come to Squires, and Mrs.—er—H’m summoning medical assistance to the bedroom over the pawnbroker’s shop in Ovington Street.
“I’ve told the girl that she may light the gas-fire in the sitting-room,” Uncle Alfred announced to her later, “so the little chap can go down there; and I’ve put out Foxe’s ‘Book of Martyrs’ to amuse him.”
“Thank you very much, Uncle,” said Rose, sincerely grateful.
It was Wednesday, when the shop closed early, and Felix Menebees came upstairs after dinner and said that he would play Halma with Cecil. He blushed all over his pale, spectacled face when Rose thanked him ardently.
“It’s nothing, Mrs. Aviolet. Pleased to do it, I’m sure,” he murmured.
“Well, I’ll go out for a bit. I want some things from the chemist. That doctor seemed to think the croup might come on again to-night, and I’m not going to be taken unawares again, if I know it.”
She went out into the damp, foggy afternoon, very raw and cold.
Her mind misgave her more and more as she thought of writing to Lady Aviolet, announcing that she and Cecil would not return to Squires. How could she cope with the economic problem that might ensue?
The streets seemed to be crowded with shoppers, hurrying, as she herself was hurrying, many of the women holding muffs against their cold faces, as though to protect themselves from the foulness of the atmosphere.
“Mrs. Aviolet!”