“No, Isobel,” I said, “you must take no chances. You may not think you
will be nervous, but the feeling may return. If you do not get a family
to move in, I shall!”
I rubbed the palms of my hands where the blisters had been, and thought
of the middle of my back where the pains and aches had congregated. I
was ready to sacrifice my passionate longing for outdoor work once more
for Isobel's sake.
[Illustration: 45]
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I know of an excellent coloured man in
Lower Westcote, that we can hire by the day--I mean that we can get to
move into the flat--but I can hardly afford, with my present allowance,
to pay his wages--that is, I mean--”
“For some time, Isobel,” I said hastily, “I have been thinking your
allowance was too small. You must have a--a great many household
expenses of which I know nothing.”
“I have,” she said simply.
That evening when I returned from the city I saw that the lawn grass
had been cut so closely that it looked as if the lawn had been shaved.
Isobel ran to meet me.
“John!” she cried; “John! Who do you think has moved into the flat
overhead?”
“Dear me!” I exclaimed. “How should I know?”
“The Prawleys!” she cried. “The Prawleys have moved back again. Are you
not glad?”
I concealed my chagrin. I hid the sorrow with which I saw my passionate
fondness for outdoor work once more defeated of its object.
“Isobel,” I said, “I wish you would tell Mr. Prawley's doctor to tell
Mr. Prawley that it is imperative for Mr. Prawley's best health that Mr.
Prawley dig the grass out of the gravel walks to-morrow. Tell him--”
“I told him this evening to do the walks the first thing in the
morning,” said Isobel innocently, “and when he has done them I am going
to have him help Mary wash the windows.”