"It's very nice." Her mother sank down in the armchair as she spoke. Jill, with quick fingers, undid her veil and removed the soaking hat.
"Now, your boots..." She began to unlace them. "I put your slippers to toast—there, isn't that nice? Look here, darling, just to please me, won't you go straight to bed?"
"I can't." Mrs. Uniacke sighed. "I've brought Stephen back to dinner. He's been so good ... and he's wet too. I do hope he won't get a chill."
A shadow fell on the girl's bright face.
"Well—he can dine with me—for once! I'll bring you up your dinner myself, so it won't make extra work for Lizzie."
She tossed back her mane of hair and tried to speak in a cheerful tone. But Mrs. Uniacke's mouth hardened.
"I promised to go through some papers to-night ... I can't, Jill—though it's very tempting..." She pressed her hand to her hot forehead. "This wet weather gives me neuralgia. Oh dear! I wish I were stronger."
"Do go to bed"—Jill pleaded. "Look here—if you must work this evening, why can't Stephen come up here? I could put a table by your side and you've got that lovely pink jacket Aunt Elizabeth sent at Christmas."
"Here? In my bedroom?" Mrs. Uniacke stared. "I shouldn't think of such a thing! Really, Jill, you must be mad!"
The girl's face went suddenly scarlet at the horror in her mother's voice.