She stepped up to the bed and looked at her patient, who seemed to be passing into a state of restless prostration, more or less under the influence of morphia.  Marcella fed her with strong beef tea made by herself during the night, and debated whether she should give brandy.  No—­either the doctor would come directly, or she would send for him.  She had not seen him yet, and her lip curled at the thought of him.  He had ordered a nurse the night before, but had not stayed to meet her, and Marcella had been obliged to make out his instructions from the husband as best she could.

Benny looked up at her with a wink as she went back to the fire.

“I didn’t let none o’ them in,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.  “They come a whisperin’ at the door, an’ a rattlin’ ov the handle as soon as ever you gone downstairs.  But I tole ’em just to take theirselves off, an’ as ’ow you didn’t want ’em.  Sillies!”

And taking a crust smeared with treacle out of his pocket, Benny returned with a severe air to the sucking of it.

Marcella laughed.

“Clever Benny,” she said, patting his head; “but why aren’t you at school, sir?”

Benjamin grinned.

“‘Ow d’yer s’pose my ma’s goin’ to git along without me to do for ’er and the babby?” he replied slily.

“Well, Benny, you’ll have the Board officer down on you.”

At this the urchin laughed out.

“Why, ‘e wor here last week!  Ee can’t be troublin’ ’isself about this ‘ere bloomin’ street every day in the week.”

There was a sharp knock at the door.

“The doctor,” she said, as her face dismissed the frolic brightness which had stolen upon it for a moment.  “Run away, Benny.”

Benny opened the door, looked the doctor coolly up and down, and then withdrew to the landing, where his sisters were waiting to play with him.

The doctor, a tall man of thirty, with a red, blurred face and a fair moustache, walked in hurriedly, and stared at the nurse standing by the fire.

“You come from the St. Martin’s Association?”

Marcella stiffly replied.  He took her temperature-chart from her hand and asked her some questions about the night, staring at her from time to time with eyes that displeased her.  Presently she came to an account of the condition in which she had found her patient.  The edge on the words, for all their professional quiet, was unmistakable.  She saw him flush.

He moved towards the bed, and she went with him.  The woman moaned as he approached her.  He set about his business with hands that shook.  Marcella decided at once that he was not sober, and watched his proceedings with increasing disgust and amazement.  Presently she could bear it no longer.

“I think,” she said, touching his arm, “that you had better leave it to me—­and—­go away!”

He drew himself up with a start which sent the things he held flying, and faced her fiercely.