"Well, how do you do?" said the alert voice of Mrs. Marble by her side.
"Sort o' close, aint it?"
"Rather."
"The city aint a place for Christians to live in, when it gets to this time; anyhow, not for Christians that aint good and strong. I'd like to put you out to pasture somewheres."
"She won't go," said Rotha longingly.
"I am, very comfortable here," said the invalid faintly.
"Comfortable! well, I feel as if you ought to be top of a mountain somewheres; out o' this. I'd like to; but I guess I'm a fixtur. Mr. Digby I'd find ways and means, I'll engage," she said, eyeing the sick woman with kindly interest and concern, who however only shook her head.
"Could you eat your strawberries?" she asked presently.
"A few of them. They were very nice."
"I never see such berries. They must have been raised somewhere in Gulliver's Brobdignay; and Gulliver don't send 'em round in these parts. I thought, maybe you'd pay 'em the compliment to eat 'em; but when appetite's gone, it's no use to have big strawberries. That's what I thought a breath of hilly air somewheres would do for you."
And Mrs. Marble presently went away, shaking her head, just as Mr. Digby came in; exchanging a look with him as she passed. Mr. Digby came up to the window, and greeted Mrs. Carpenter with the gentle affectionate reverence he always shewed her.