“Are these all?” Mr. Earlforward asked indifferently, as she put the three letters into his limp, shiny hand.
“Yes, sir,” she said without compunction.
He allowed the letters to slip out of his hand on to the eiderdown. She was just a little afraid of being alone with him.
II
The Refusal
In the early dusk of the afternoon, about four o’clock, there was a banging on the shop-door, and the short bark of a dog, who evidently considered himself entitled to help in whatever affair was afoot. Elsie was upstairs. During the morning several persons, incapable of understanding that when a shop is shut it is shut, had banged on the door, and at last Elsie, by means of two tin tacks, had affixed to the door—without a word to her master—a dirty old card on which she had scrawled in large pencilled letters the succinct announcement, “Closed.” This had put an end to banging. But now more banging!
“The doctor!” Elsie exclaimed, and ran down.
Not the doctor, but a lanky and elegant little girl accompanied by a fox-terrier, stood at the door. As soon as the door opened and she saw Elsie the little girl blushed. The fact was that this was her very first entry into the world of affairs, and she felt both extremely nervous and extremely anxious not to show her nervousness to a servant. The dog, of course, suffered.
“Be quiet, sir!” she said very emphatically to the restless creature, addressing him as a gentleman, and the next minute catching him a clout on his hard head. “Papa can’t come, and he told me to say—”
“Will you please step inside, Miss Raste?” Elsie suggested.
Nobody was about, but Elsie with a servant’s imitativeness had acquired her mistress’s passion for keeping private business private. The little girl, reassured by the respectful formality of her reception, stepped inside with some dignity, and the dog, too tardily following, got himself nipped in the closing door and yelped.
“Serves you right!” said Miss Raste; and to apologetic Elsie: “Oh, not at all! It’s all his own fault. … Papa says he’s so busy he can’t come himself, but you are to get Mr. Earlforward ready to go to the hospital, and wrap him up well; and while you’re doing that I am to walk towards King’s Cross and get a taxi for you. I may have to go all the way to King’s Cross,” Miss Raste added proudly and eagerly. “But it will be all right. I got a taxi for papa yesterday; it was driving towards our Square, but I stopped it and got in, and told the chauffeur to drive me to our house—not very far, of course. Papa said I should be quite all right, and he’s teaching me to be self-reliant and all that.” Miss Raste gave a little snigger. “Jack! You naughty boy!”
Jack was examining in detail the correspondence which Elsie had neglected and told lies about. At his mistress’s protest he ran off into the obscure hinterland of the shop to stake out a claim there.
“And after I’ve got you the taxi I am to walk home. Oh, and papa said I was to say you were to tell Mr. Earlforward that Mrs. Earlforward will have an operation tomorrow morning.”
Miss Raste was encouraged to be entirely confidential, to withhold nothing even about herself, by the confidence-inspiring and kindly aspect of Elsie’s face. She thought almost ecstatically to herself: “How nice it would be to have her for a servant! She’s heaps nicer than Clara.” But she had some doubt about the correctness of Elsie’s style in aprons.
“Oh dear! Oh dear!” Elsie murmured.
“And they’ll be expecting Mr. Earlforward at Bart’s. It’s all arranged.”
Having impinged momentarily upon a drab tragedy of Clerkenwell and taken a considerable fancy to Elsie, and having imperiously summoned her dog, Miss Raste, who was being educated to leave Clerkenwell one day and disdain it, departed on her mission with a demeanour in which the princess and the filly were mingled.
“What’s the matter? What have you turned the light on for?” Mr. Earlforward demanded when Elsie, much agitated, entered the bedroom. “What is the matter?”
Elsie tried to compose her face.
“How do you feel now, sir?” she asked, serpent-like in spite of her simplicity and nervousness.
“I feel decidedly better. In fact, I was almost thinking of getting up.”
“Oh! That’s good. Because the doctor’s sending a taxi for you, and I am to take you to the hospital at once. Here’s all your things.” She fingered a loaded chair. “And while you’re putting ’em on I’ll just run upstairs and get my things.”
“Is the doctor here?” Henry cautiously inquired.
“No, sir. He says he’s too busy. But he’s sent his little girl.”
“Well, I’m not going to the hospital. Why should I go to the hospital?” Mr. Earlforward exclaimed with peevish, rather shrill obstinacy.
She had “known” he would refuse to go to the hospital. She was beaten from the start.
“But you said you would go to the hospital, sir.”
“When did I say I would go to the hospital?”
“You said so to missis, sir.”
“And who told you?”
“Missis,
