“Good-day, Mrs. Ripstone.”
An elderly woman in a faded blue flannel blouse had thrust a beak of a nose round the edge of the door.
“Good-day, ma’am.”
The thin, hard face offered no very fulsome welcome.
“How is your husband? Dr. Steel told me yesterday that he was a little better.”
Mrs. Ripstone’s lethargic eyes rested for a moment on the small boy carrying the parcels. Mrs. Betty herself bore the golden flowers.
“Much obliged, ma’am; my ’usband is doin’ as well as can be expected. Will you step in? We ain’t particular tidy.”
Mrs. Betty stepped in, and sat down calmly on a very rickety chair.
“I have brought you a little soup, and two glasses of jelly.”
“Much obliged to you, ma’am.”