The lady's face clouded. But following up another train of thought, she said—
"Of course you must arrange about your baby, and I hope you'll make proper arrangements. Tell the woman in whose charge you leave it that I shall want to see it every three weeks. It will be better so," she added under her breath, "for two have died already."
"This is my card," said the lady—"Mrs. Rivers, Curzon Street, Mayfair—and I shall expect you to-morrow afternoon—that is to say, if the doctor approves of you. Here is one-and-sixpence for your cab fare."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"I shall expect you not later than four o'clock. I hope you won't disappoint me; remember my child is waiting."
When Mrs. Rivers left, Esther consulted with Mrs. Jones. The difficulty was now where she should put the child out at nurse. It was now just after two o'clock. The baby was fast asleep, and would want nothing for three or four hours. It would be well for Esther to put on her hat and jacket and go off at once. Mrs. Jones gave her the address of a respectable woman who used to take charge of children. But this woman was nursing twins, and could not possibly undertake the charge of another baby. And Esther visited many streets, always failing for one reason or another. At last she found herself in Wandsworth, in a battered tumble-down little street, no thoroughfare, only four houses and a coal-shed. Broken wooden palings stood in front of the small area into which descent was made by means of a few wooden steps. The wall opposite seemed to be the back of some stables, and in the area of No. 3 three little mites were playing. The baby was tied in a chair, and a short fat woman came out of the kitchen at Esther's call, her dirty apron sloping over her high stomach, and her pale brown hair twisted into a knot at the top of her head.
"Well, what is it?"
"I came about putting a child out to nurse. You are Mrs. Spires, ain't yer?"
"Yes, that's my name. May I ask who sent you?"
Esther told her, and then Mrs. Spires asked her to step down into the kitchen.