“There’s something in that,” admitted Trixie. “I’ll see if I can get a lady friend of mine from Pitfield Street to look in for a few hours.” She raised her voice and called at the foot of the stairs. “’Tilderann! Come down this minute.”
The girl obeyed, remarking in a grumbling undertone that the place was a perfect treadmill, and that for her part she envied the folk in Pentonville; she went to the doorway and reproved two infants outside for breathing on the glass, in good, well-chosen, and effective terms.
“Don’t put your arm round my waist, Bobbie,” whispered Trixie as they went up the dim, narrow staircase. “Besides, there’s a buckle on my belt. Mother, ’ere’s a gentleman come to call on you.”
Mrs. Bell, raising her head from the white pillow, gave a chuckle of recognition. Robert, with his cap off, made his way round the bedstead, which seemed nearly to fill the room, but not quite, and shook hands with the large invalid.
“My poor old ’ead,” she remarked, jovially, “gets in such a fluster, sometimes, that I can’t remember nothing, and when the gel said Mr. Lancaster was in the shop it took me minutes to think who she meant. D’you think Trixie’s growed?”
“Growed up and growed ’andsome,” said Robert. Mrs. Bell gave a sigh of content, closing her eyes for a moment. “And how are you, ma’am? On the mend, I ’ope.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Bell, opening her eyes and speaking loudly, “I’ve got nothing to complain of.” She lowered her voice, and added confidentially, so that Trixie should not hear, “May pop off at any moment.”
Trixie having explained the proposal that Robert had made, suggested that she should go round now to engage the services of the millinery friend in Pitfield Street. Her mother agreed cheerfully.
“Of course,” said the old lady in a very loud tone, “I’ve been used to a active life, and naturally enough it goes somewhat against the grain for me to be kep’ in one room for monce and monce. Otherwise I feel as well—” Trixie went out of the room, closing the door, and Mrs. Bell stopped and winked solemnly. “It’d never do to let her know the truth,” she whispered. “I always like to pretend before her I’m getting better. It’s a rare game sometimes the dodges I ’ave to get up to so that she shouldn’t know how bad I am.”
“Trixie isn’t a bad sort,” remarked Robert.