Now everything was changed; a sudden and very terrible blow had fallen on the proud girl. Her pride was humiliated to the very dust. She had held her head high, and it was now brought low. She resolved never to look at Hardy again. Nothing would induce her to go back to the shop. Oh, yes, Grannie might go to Mr. Shaw and talk as much as she liked, but nothing would make matters straight now.
Mrs. Reed was very quick about all she said and did. She was tired after her long morning of waiting in the Out-Patients' Department of the London Hospital, but mere bodily fatigue meant very little to her. One of her nurslings—the special darling of her heart—was humiliated and in danger. It was her duty to go to the rescue. She put on her black bonnet and neat black shawl, encased her little hands once again in her white cotton gloves, and walked briskly through the kitchen.
"I'm off, Ally," she said. "I'll be back soon with good news."
Then she paused near the door.
"Ef you have a bit of time you might go on with some of the needlework," she said.
She thought of the hand which ached so sorely.
"Yes, Grannie," replied Alison, turning slowly and looking at her.
"You'll find the basket in the cupboard, love. I'm doing the feather-stitching now; don't you spoil the pattern."
"No, Grannie," answered the girl. Then she added abruptly, her lips quivering: "There aint no manner of use in your going out and tiring yourself."
"Use or not, I am going," said Mrs. Reed.