'
'She was dyin',' said Mrs. Delville, under her breath. 'Can you do
anythin'? What a mercy it was I went to the dance!'
Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head.
'Is it all over?' she gasped. 'I'm useless I'm worse than useless!
What are you doing here?'
She stared at Mrs. Delville, and Mrs. Bent, realising for the first
time who was the Goddess from the Machine, stared also.
Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, putting on a dirty long glove
and smoothing a crumpled and ill-fitting ball-dress.
'I was at the dance, an' the Doctor was tellin' me about your baby
bein' so ill. So I came away early, an' your door was open, an' I I
lost my boy this way six months ago, an' I've been tryin' to forget it
ever since, an' I I I am very sorry for intrudin' an' anythin' that has
happened.'
Mrs. Bent was putting out the Doctor's eye with a lamp as he
stooped over Dora.
'Take it away,' said the Doctor. 'I think the child will do, thanks to
you, Mrs. Delville. I should have come too late, but, I assure you'
he was addressing himself to Mrs. Delville 'I had not the faintest
reason to expect this. The membrane must have grown like a
mushroom. Will one of you help me, please?'
He had reason for the last sentence. Mrs. Hauksbee had thrown
herself into Mrs. Delville's arms, where she was weeping bitterly,
and Mrs. Bent was unpicturesquely mixed up with both, while
from the tangle came the sound of many sobs and much
promiscuous kissing.
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