and needles if she did not get up; but, since she would not wake him for the world, she must do something else to cure it.  And she hit upon this plan.  She had only to say, ’Nonsense, you haven’t anything of the sort!’ and it was sure to go away.  She said this to her leg, but, being a realist, she only made it feel like a pin-cushion.  She knew, however, that she had only to persevere, because it would never do to give in.  She persevered, and her leg felt as if red-hot needles were being stuck in it.  Then, for the life of her, she could not help saying a little psalm.  The sensation went away and left her leg quite dead.  She would have no strength in it at all when she got up.  But that would be easily cured, when she could get to her bag, with three globules of nux vomica—­and darling Derek must not be waked up for anything!  She waited thus till Nedda came back, and then said, “Sssh!”

He woke at once, so that providentially she was able to get up, and, having stood with her weight on one leg for five minutes, so as to be quite sure she did not fall, she crossed back to the window, took her nux vomica, and sat down with her tablets to note down the little affairs she would require, while Nedda took her place beside the bed, to fan him.  Having made her list, she went to Nedda and whispered that she was going down to see about one or two little things, and while she whispered she arranged the dear child’s hair.  If only she would keep it just like that, it would be so much more becoming!  And she went down-stairs.

Accustomed to the resources of Stanley’s establishment, or at least to those of John’s and Felix’s, and of the hotels she stayed at, she felt for a moment just a little nonplussed at discovering at her disposal nothing but three dear little children playing with a dog, and one bicycle.  For a few seconds she looked at the latter hard.  If only it had been a tricycle!  Then, feeling certain that she could not make it into one, she knew that she must make the best of it, especially as, in any case, she could not have used it, for it would never do to leave darling Nedda alone in the house.  She decided therefore to look in every room to see if she could find the things she wanted.  The dog, who had been attracted by her, left the children and came too, and the children, attracted by the dog, followed; so they all five went into a room on the ground floor.  It was partitioned into two by a screen; in one portion was a rough camp bedstead, and in the other two dear little child’s beds, that must once have been Derek’s and Sheila’s, and one still smaller, made out of a large packing-case.  The eldest of the little children said: 

“That’s where Billy sleeps, Susie sleeps here, and I sleeps there; and our father sleeped in here before he went to prison.”  Frances Freeland experienced a shock.  To prison!  The idea of letting these little things know such a thing as that!  The best face had so clearly not been put on it that she decided to put it herself.