“I don’t want no more’n this—if de pain is taken into de reckonin’.”
“’Twill be—’twill be, Gra’.”
There was a knock on the door.
“That’s Nurse. She’s before ’er time,” said Mrs. Ashcroft. “Open to ’er.”
The young lady entered briskly, all the bottles in her bag clicking. “Evenin’, Mrs. Ashcroft,” she began. “I’ve come raound a little earlier than usual because of the Institute dance to-na-ite. You won’t ma-ind, will you?”
“Oh, no. Me dancin’ days are over.” Mrs. Ashcroft was the self-contained domestic at once. “My old friend, Mrs. Fettley ’ere, has been settin’ talkin’ with me a while.”
“I hope she ’asn’t been fatiguing you?” said the Nurse a little frostily.
“Quite the contrary. It ’as been a pleasure. Only—only—just at the end I felt a bit—a bit flogged out, like.”
“Yes, yes.” The Nurse was on her knees already, with the washes to hand. “When old ladies get together they talk a deal too much, I’ve noticed.”
“Mebbe we do,” said Mrs. Fettley, rising. “So, now, I’ll make myself scarce.”