The calamities that now threatened her were
infinitely more menacing than before her precious bag had been
stolen. It seemed as if man and circumstance had conspired for her
undoing. Her suspense of mind was such that it seemed long hours
before she knocked at the blistered door in the Blomfield Road where
Miss Nippett lived.
Miss Nippett was in, she learned from the red-nosed, chilblain-
fingered slut who opened the door.
"What nyme?"
"Mrs Kenrick, who was Miss Keeves," replied Mavis.
"Will you go up?" said the slut when, a few minutes later, she came
downstairs.
Mavis went upstairs, past the cupboard containing Miss Nippett's
collection of unclaimed "overs," to the door directly beyond.
"Come in" cried a well-remembered voice, as Mavis knocked.
She entered, to see Miss Nippett half rising from a chair before the
fire. She was startled by the great change which had taken place in
the accompanist's appearance since she had last seen her. She looked
many years older; her figure was quite bent; the familiar shawl was
too ample for the narrow, stooping shoulders.
"Aren't you well?" asked Mavis, as she kissed her friend's cheek.
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