“Now, Robin,” said I, “we must break this very cautiously to the old lady and Miss Blythe.”
“Oh, in course—we-r-y cautiously,” assented the urchin, with inconceivable earnestness.
“Well, then, off you go and fetch my greatcoat. We’ll go visit Mrs Willis at once.”
“At vunce,” echoed Robin, as he ran out of the room, with blazing cheeks and sparkling eyes.
“Lilly,” said Dr McTougall, as Edith entered his consulting-room. “I’m just off to see a patient who is very ill, and there is another who is not quite so ill, but who also wants to see me. I’ll send you to the latter as my female assistant, if you will go. Her complaint is chiefly mental. In fact, she needs comfort more than physic, and I know of no one who is comparable to you in that line. Can you go?”
“Certainly, with pleasure. I’ll go at once.”
“Her name,” said the doctor, “is Willis.—By the way, that reminds me of your loss, dear girl,” he continued in a lower tone, as he gently took her hand, “but I would not again arouse your hopes. You know how many old women of this name we have seen without finding her.”
“Yes, I know too well,” returned poor Edith, while the tears gathered in her eyes. “I have long ago given up all hope.”
But notwithstanding her statement Edith had not quite given way to despair. In spite of herself her heart fluttered a little as she sped on this mission to the abode of another old Mrs Willis.