her, "and our house is much nearer to the Doctor's than the hotel, and you won't feel as though you were living in a hostile camp. Where is the dear Mrs. Waddy? She seemed to be a particular friend of yours."
"They've all left me," said Mrs. Bent bitterly. "Mrs. Waddy went first. She said I ought to be ashamed of myself for introducing diseases there, and I'm sure it wasn't my fault that little Dora"
"How nice!" cooed Mrs. Hauksbee. "The Waddy is an infectious disease herself—'more quickly caught than the plague and the taker runs presently mad'. I lived next door to her at the Elysium, three years ago. How see, you won't give us the least trouble and I've ornamented all the house with sheets soaked in carbolic. It smells comforting, doesn't it? Remember I'm always in call, and my ayah's at your service when yours goes to her meals and—and—if you cry I'll never forgive you."
Dora Bent occupied her mother's unprofitable attention through the day and the night. The Doctor called thrice in the twenty-four hours, and the house reeked with the smell of the Condy's Fluid, chlorine water, and carbolic acid washes. Mrs. Mallowe kept to her own rooms—she considered that she had made sufficient concessions in the cause of humanity—and Mrs. Hauksbee was more esteemed by the doctor as a help in the sick-room than the half-distraught mother.
"I know nothing of illness," said Mrs. Hauksbee to the Doctor, "only tell me what to do and I'll do it,"
"Keep that crazy woman from kissing the child, and let her have as little to do with the nursing as you possibly can," said the Doctor; "I'd turn her out of the sick-room, but that I honestly believe she'd die of anxiety. She is less than no good, and I depend on you and the ayahs, remember."
Mrs. Hauksbee accepted the responsibility, even though it painted olive hollows under her eyes and forced her into her oldest dresses. Mrs. Bent clung to her with more than childlike faith.
