Abandoning the uncertainty of hunting for a bath he dressed and came downstairs to the sitting-room (that was what it was called) in which the meals had been served the day before. Mrs. Barrow was sitting there in pleasant sunlight, wearing a less elaborate cap and a shetland shawl, and the canary, whose brass cage and saffron plumage now shone brilliantly in the morning sunlight, was singing like mad. When Edwin came into the room she smiled at him.
“We’re so glad that you slept well,” she said. “Miss Beecock went to have a look at you but you were sleeping so soundly that she didn’t like to disturb you. You must have been tired out. Now you’ll be ready for breakfast.”
At this point Miss Beecock entered the room, her attire modified in the same degree as that of Mrs. Barrow.
“Ah . . .” she said with a little laugh. “Here you are. I must ask Annie for your breakfast.”
“He’d like a nice brown egg, lightly boiled, and some buttered toast,” said Mrs. Barrow temptingly.
“Yes, of course he would,” said Miss Beecock.
“I think if you don’t mind,” said Edwin, “I’d like to go home. It’s so late.”
“Oh, you needn’t mind us,” chimed the two old ladies.
That wasn’t exactly what Edwin had meant, but he allowed himself to be persuaded, and even enjoyed his breakfast, to the accompaniment of the twitterings of the canary and his two hostesses.
“You’ll sleep here again to-night, won’t you?” they said when he was ready to go. Edwin thanked them. “Oh, we’re only too pleased to be of any assistance to your mother,” they said, pursuing his departure with the kindest and most innocent of smiles.