Ethel looked at him with sudden suspicion.
“What do you want?” she said. “I’m not going to buy you anything.”
William looked pained.
“I don’t want anything,” he said. “I jus’ want to help you, that’s all. I jus’ want to carry your parcels for you. I—I jus’ don’t want you to get tired, that’s all.”
“All right.” Ethel was still suspicious. “You can come and you can carry parcels, but you won’t get a penny out of me.”
They walked down together to the shops, and William meekly allowed himself to be laden with many parcels. Ethel’s grim suspicion passed into bewilderment as he passed toyshop after toyshop without a glance. In imagination he was already teaching complicated tricks to a pair of white rats.
“It’s—it’s awfully decent of you, William,” said Ethel, at last, almost persuaded that she had misjudged William for the greater part of his life. “Do you feel all right? I mean, you don’t feel ill or anything, do you?”
“No,” he said absently, then corrected himself hastily. “At least, not jus’ now. I feel all right jus’ now. I feel as if I might not feel all right soon, but I don’t know.”
Ethel looked anxious.
“Let’s get home quickly. What have you been eating?”