Joey wanted nothing except to be let alone, but the anxiety in Mrs. Vincey’s voice touched her beyond endurance.
“That would be awfully nice!” she began brightly, and then suddenly burst into tears.
“Come upstairs and lie down, my deary!”
Mrs. Vincey went up with her to the neat little room, dim and cool with the blinds drawn down, fresh with the smell of the sea.
“Lie down, deary! That’s it! I’ll unbutton your slippers. Never mind, Joey, my deary—just take a little rest.”
“I’m all right now, gran.”
Better not to notice that Joey was still crying, with her head buried in the pillow. Mrs. Vincey went out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her, and stood outside in the hall, clasping her hands tight.
“I haven’t anything to give her!” she thought. “Oh, it’s too much! She’s so young!”
She thought of one little thing she could do—a very little thing. She put on her hat and went down the road a little way, to a small grocery shop.
“Good day, Mr. Spier!”