"An angel unawares," she said with an unsteady laugh. "That is what you are. Oh, my dear, you must not put these temptations in my way, you must not try to make me discontented with my lot. For two years I have not seen a green field, or caught a sight of the sea. It is two years since I was so extravagant as to go to Hastings for the day. I took my lunch and passed the whole afternoon in the glen at Fairlight.
"I met a doctor there, he was just recovering from a dangerous illness--such a nice fellow! And it seemed the most natural thing in the world that we should tell our story to one another. I wonder if I shall see that young doctor again?"
"I wonder," Mary laughed. "But what are we going to do now?"
"Have a proper breakfast at a place I know of," Connie said. "Then we are going to sit on the grass in the Park, and you will have a sleep whilst I look after you. Grace does not get up till about mid-day, so we won't bother her just yet. Perhaps she will be able to find us another lodging. My dear Mary, your white face is quite a reproach to me. Let us go to breakfast at once."
The breakfast was plain, but good, and eaten in a clean room, which was something. Then the two wandered into the Park, given over at this hour to nursemaids and children, and under the shade of a tree Mary lay down and closed her weary eyes. The warmth was soothing. Mary found herself wondering what they would have done had it been a wet day. . . . Her mind began to wander now . . . she was back again in the garden at Dashwood, she was rambling the summer woods with the breeze in the old elms overhead. Then gradually the world seemed to grow dark, and she slept.
The sun was high overhead when she came to herself again. She felt fresh and vigorous now, ready for anything. Then the humorous side of the thing struck her and she laughed. The idea of a Dashwood sleeping out all night like a common tramp! And yet Mary did not quite realise how near the most prosperous of us is to the workhouse. A trick of Fate, misfortunes over money matters, a long illness, and the thing is done. There are thousands of such instances every year.
"Do you feel equal to moving yet?" Connie asked.
"My dear, I feel equal to anything." Mary cried. "My courage has come back to me. And now what do you propose to do next?"
"The next thing is to call on Grace and tell her of our misfortunes. We must not repeat last night's experiment if we can help it. Besides, there are those drawings for the Wheezer which are promised for tomorrow. They were all finished and lying on my table when the catastrophe happened. I must get them back today."