Alone with the grinning idiot, Mavis shut her eyes, the while she finished her tea.  She did not want her baby to be in any way affected by the acute mental discomfort occasioned to its mother by the presence of Mrs Gowler’s son, a contingency she had understood could easily be a reality.  When she looked about for her hat and umbrella, she discovered, to her great relief, that she was alone, Oscar having apparently slipped out after his mother, the kitchen door being ajar.  Mavis drew on her gloves, stopped her ears with her fingers as she passed along the passage, opened the door and hurried away from the house.

Once outside, the beauty of the sweet spring day emphasised the horror of the house she had left.

She set her lips grimly, thought lovingly of Perigal, and resolved to dwell on her approaching ordeal as little as possible.  Before returning to Mrs Scatchard’s, she looked in to see Miss Nippett, who, with the coming of summer, seemed to lose strength daily.  She now hardly ever got up, but remained in bed all day, where she would talk softly to herself.  She always brightened up when Mavis came into the room, and was ever keenly interested in the latest news from the academy, particularly in Mr Poulter’s physical and economic wellbeing.  Seeing how make-believe inquiries of Mr Poulter after his accompanist’s health cheered the lonely old woman, Mavis had no compunction in employing these white lies to brighten Miss Nippett’s monotonous days.

She raised herself in bed and nodded a welcome as Mavis entered the room.  After assuring Mavis “that she was all right, reely she was,” she asked: 

“When are you going to ’ave your baby?”

“Very soon now,” sighed Mavis.

“I don’t think I shall ever ’ave one,” remarked Miss Nippett.

“Indeed!”

“They’re a great tie if one has a busy life,” she said, to add wistfully, “Though it would be nice if one could get Mr Poulter for a godfather.”

“Wouldn’t it!” echoed Mavis.

“Give it a good start in the world, you know.  It ’ud be something to talk about ‘avin’ ’im for a godfather.”

Presently, when Mavis stooped to kiss the wan face before going, Miss Nippett said: 

“If I was to die, d’ye know what ’ud make me die ’appy?”

“Don’t talk such nonsense:  at your age, too.”

“If I could just be made a partner in ‘Poulter’s,’” continued Miss Nippett.  “Not for the money, you understand, reely not for that; but for the honour, as you might say.”

“I quite understand.”

“But there, one mustn’t be too ambitious.  That’s the worst of me.  And it’s the way to be un’appy,” she sighed.

Mavis walked with heavy heart to her lodging; for all her own griefs, Miss Nippett’s touching faith in “Poulter’s” moved her deeply.

When Mavis got back, she found Mrs Scatchard and her niece in high feather.  They insisted upon Mavis joining them at what they called a knife and fork tea, to which Mr Napper and two friends of the family had been invited.  Mr Scatchard was not present, but no mention was made of his absence, it being looked upon as an inevitable relaxation after the work and fret of the day.  The room was littered with evening papers.