About seven, kindly Mrs Scatchard brought her up some tea, her
excuse for this attention being that "blood" could not be expected
to get up without a cup of this stimulant. Mrs Scatchard, like most
stout women, was of a nervous, kindly, ingenuous disposition. It
hurt Mavis considerably to tell her the story she had concocted, of
a husband in straitened circumstances in America, who was struggling
to prepare a home for her. Mrs Scatchard was herself a bereaved
mother. Much moved by her recollections, she gave Mavis needed and
pertinent advice with reference to her condition.
"There is kindness in the world," thought Mavis, when she was alone.
After breakfast, that was supplied at a previously arranged charge
of fourpence, Mavis, fearing the company of her thoughts, betook
herself to Miss Nippett in the Blomfield Road.
She found her elderly friend in bed, a queer, hapless figure in her
pink flannel nightgown.
"I haven't heard anything," said Miss Nippett, as soon as she caught
sight of Mavis.
"Of what?"
"What luck Mr Poulter's had at the dancing competition! Haven't you
come about that?"
"I came to see how you were.
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