She gave her hand, glanced at him with embarrassment, and so let him depart.
Ten minutes restored the mood in which she had set out. Once more she smiled to herself. Indeed, her head was better for the fresh air and the movement. If only the sisters would allow her to get away soon after dinner!
It was Virginia who opened the door to her, and embraced and kissed her with wonted fondness.
“You are nice and early! Poor Alice has been in bed since the day before yesterday; a dreadful cold and one of her very worst headaches. But I think she is a little better this morning.”
Alice—a sad spectacle—was propped up on pillows.
“Don’t kiss me, darling,” she said, in a voice barely audible. “You mustn’t risk getting a sore throat. How well you look!”
“I’m afraid she doesn’t look well,” corrected Virginia; “but perhaps she has a little more colour than of late. Monica, dear, as Alice can hardly use her voice, I will speak for both of us, and wish you many, many happy returns of the day. And we ask you to accept this little book from us. It may be a comfort to you from time to time.”
“You are good, kind dears!” replied Monica, kissing the one on the lips and the other on her thinly-tressed head. “It’s no use saying you oughtn’t to have spent money on me; you will always do it. What a nice “Christian Year”! I’ll do my best to read some of it now and then.”
With a half-guilty air, Virginia then brought from some corner of the room a very small but delicate currant cake. Monica must eat a mouthful of this; she always had such a wretched breakfast, and the journey from Walworth Road was enough to give an appetite.
“But you are ruining yourselves, foolish people!”