But I am now the annalist of a mission, and I must narrate one incident in our work that proved to have a very momentous bearing on that generous inspiration of two women's minds.
Kate and I had been talking together for the greater part of a profitable morning, when a woman entered our austere apartment.
She was one of our few regular applicants; a not ill-looking, plausible, tidily dressed widow who confessed to thirty and probably was five years older.
“Good-morning, Mrs. Martin,” said Kate, with a haughty, off-hand graciousness that, I fear, intimidated these poor people more than it flattered them. “What do you want?”
“Please, mum,” said Mrs. Martin, glancing from one to the other of us and beginning an effective little dry cough, “my 'ealth is a-suffering dreadful from this weather. The doctor 'e says nothink but a change of hair won't do any good. I was that bad last night, miss, I scarcely thought I'd see the morning.”
And here the good lady stopped to cough again.
“Well,” said Kate, “what can we do?”
“If I 'ad the means to get to the seaside for a week, miss, my 'ealth would benefit extraordinary; the doctor 'e says Margate, sir, would set me up wonderful.”
“You had better see the doctor, Miss Kerry,” I suggested.
“Oh, I can't be bothered. I've seen him before; he's a stupid little fool. Give her a pound.”