She began talking gossip about the Fearnses and the Swetnams, and she mentioned rumours concerning Henry Mynors (who had scruples against dancing) and Anna Tellwright, the daughter of that rich old skinflint Ephraim Tellwright.  No mistake; she was on the inside of things in Bursley society!  It was just as if she had removed the front walls of every house and examined every room at her leisure, with minute particularity.  But of course a teacher of dancing had opportunities....  Denry had to pretend to be nearly as omniscient as she was.

Then she broke off, without warning, and lay back in her chair.

“I wonder if you’d mind going into the barn for me?” she murmured.

She generally referred to her academy as the barn.  It had once been a warehouse.

He jumped up.  “Certainly,” he said, very eager.

“I think you’ll see a small bottle of eau-de-Cologne on the top of the piano,” she said, and shut her eyes.

He hastened away, full of his mission, and feeling himself to be a terrific cavalier and guardian of weak women.  He felt keenly that he must be equal to the situation.  Yes, the small bottle of eau-de-Cologne was on the top of the piano.  He seized it and bore it to her on the wings of chivalry.  He had not been aware that eau-de-Cologne was a remedy for, or a palliative of, headaches.

She opened her eyes, and with a great effort tried to be bright and better.  But it was a failure.  She took the stopper out of the bottle and sniffed first at the stopper and then at the bottle; then she spilled a few drops of the liquid on her handkerchief and applied the handkerchief to her temples.

“It’s easier,” she said.

“Sure?” he asked.  He did not know what to do with himself—­whether to sit down and feign that she was well, or to remain standing in an attitude of respectful and grave anxiety.  He thought he ought to depart; yet would it not be ungallant to desert her under the circumstances?  She was alone.  She had no servant, only an occasional charwoman.

She nodded with brave, false gaiety.  And then she had a relapse.

“Don’t you think you’d better lie down?” he suggested in more masterful accents.  And added; “And I’ll go....?  You ought to lie down.  It’s the only thing.”  He was now speaking to her like a wise uncle.

“Oh no!” she said, without conviction.  “Besides, you can’t go till I’ve paid you.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “Oh! don’t bother about that now!” But he restrained himself.  There was a notable core of common-sense in Denry.  He had been puzzling how he might neatly mention the rent while departing in a hurry so that she might lie down.  And now she had solved the difficulty for him.

She stretched out her arm, and picked up a bunch of keys from a basket on a little table.

“You might just unlock that desk for me, will you?” she said.  And, further, as she went through the keys one by one to select the right key:  “Each quarter I’ve put your precious Mr Herbert Calvert’s rent in a drawer in that desk. ...  Here’s the key.”  She held up the whole ring by the chosen key, and he accepted it.  And she lay back once more in her chair, exhausted by her exertions.