‘Dear Colonel,—Do come over this evening if possible. I have had another letter, which you must see. I depend upon you for everything. You are the only friend I have in the world. Pray don’t fail me.—Ever yours gratefully,
‘Cissy Lawless.’
‘Cat!’ cries Mrs Dunstan indignantly, ‘deceitful, fawning, hypocritical cat! This is the way she gets over the men—pretending to each one that he is the only friend she has in the world—a married woman, too! It’s disgusting! Miss MacQuirk is quite right, and some one ought to tell poor Jack Lawless of the way she is carrying on. And Charlie is as bad as she is! It was only to-day he told me as bold as brass that that creature’s eyes are so innocent and guileless-looking they reminded him of little Katie’s—and not ten minutes afterwards, he said my new bonnet from England was a fright, and made me look as yellow as a guinea. Oh! what is this world coming to, and where will such wickedness end? I wish that I was dead and buried with poor mamma.’ And so Mrs Dunstan cries herself to sleep, and when her husband comes home and kisses her fondly as she lies upon the pillow, he decides that she is feverish, and has not been looking well lately and must require change, and remains awake for some time thinking how he can best arrange to let her have it.
In the middle of that night, however, something occurs to occupy the minds of both father and mother to the exclusion of everything else. Little Katie, their only child, a beautiful little girl of three years old, is taken suddenly and dangerously ill with one of those violent disorders that annually decimate our British possessions in the east. The whole household is roused—Dr MacQuirk summoned from his bed—and for some hours the parents hang in mental terror over the baby’s cot, fearing every minute lest their treasure should be taken from them. But the crisis passes. Little Katie is weak but out of danger, and then the consideration arises what is the best thing to facilitate her recovery. Dr MacQuirk lets a day or two pass to allow the child to gain a little strength, and then he tells the colonel emphatically that she must be sent away at once—to England if possible—or he will not answer for her life. This announcement is a sad blow to Colonel Dunstan, but he knows it is imperative, and prepares to break the news to his wife.
‘Ethel, my dear, I am sorry to tell you that MacQuirk considers it quite necessary that Katie should leave Mudlianah for change of air, and he wishes her, if possible, to go to England at once.’
‘But it is not possible, Charlie. We could never consent to send the child home alone, and you cannot get leave again so soon. Surely it is not absolutely necessary she should go to England.’
‘Not absolutely necessary, perhaps, but very advisable, not only for Katie, but for yourself. You are not looking at all well, Ethel. Your dispirited appearance worries me sadly, and in your condition you should take every care of yourself. I hardly like to make the proposal to you, but if you would consent to take Katie home to your sister’s, say for a twelvemonth, I think it would do your own health a great deal of good.’
But Colonel Dunstan’s allusion to her want of spirits has recalled all her jealousy of Mrs Lawless to Ethel’s mind, and the journey to England finds no favour in her eyes.
‘You want me to go away for a twelvemonth,’ she says sharply, ‘and pray what is to become of you meanwhile?’