"Violet's just this minute gone out for a breath of air," she said. "I'm putting Baby to bed for her. She's been very fretful all day."
"Who? Virelet?"
"No, Baby. (Did it then!)."
"How's that?" (He sat perched on the footrail of the bedstead, for there was not much room to spare, what with the wardrobe and Winny and the bath.)
"I don't know. But I fancy she isn't very well."
The Baby confirmed her judgment by a cry of anguish.
"I say, what's wrong?"
"I think," said Winny, "it's the hot weather and the bottles."
"The what?"
"The bottles. They're nasty things, and you can't be too careful with them."