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Updated: June 11, 2025
She did not recognise anything resembling herself in the swollen, distorted features, the distended eyes, and the dilated nostrils which she saw in the glass which Mrs Gowler held before her. She was soon lost to all sense of her surroundings. She feared that she was going mad.
"You will, will yer! You try it on," cried Mrs Gowler defiantly. "I believe he could be prosecuted, if I told the police about it," remarked Mavis. At the mention of "police," Mrs Gowler's face became rigid.
When, with the patient's consent, Mrs Gowler set out to fetch the doctor, she, also at the girl's request, sent a telegram to Mrs Scatchard, asking her to send on at once any letters that may have come for Mavis. She was sustained by a hope that Perigal may have written to her former address. "Got yer shillin' ready?" asked Mrs Gowler, an hour or so later. "'E'll be up in a minute."
"Doctor's fee," said Mrs Gowler, as she thrust herself between the doctor and the bed. Mavis put the shilling in her hand, at which the landlady left the room, to be quickly followed by the doctor, who seemed equally eager to go. Mavis, with aching head, wondered if the evening post would bring her the letter she hungered for from North Kensington.
Just then, Mavis's heart ached for the sympathy and support of some motherly person in whom she could confide. A tender word, a hint of appreciation of her present extremity, would have done much to give her stay for the approaching dread ordeal. Perhaps this was why, for the time being, she stifled her dislike of Mrs Gowler and submitted to the woman's presence.
"Better, dear?" asked this person. "Where's Mrs Gowler?" whispered Mavis. "She got tired of waiting, so I came in. "Who are you?" asked Mavis. "I'm the 'permanent." "The what?" "The 'permanent': at least, that's what they call me here. But you mustn't talk. You've 'ad a bad time." "Is it a boy or a girl?" asked Mavis. "A boy. Don't say no more."
It was a yellow envelope, on which was printed "On His Majesty's Service." Mavis tore it open, to find her own letter to Perigal enclosed, which was marked "Gone, no address." A glance told her that it had been correctly addressed. When, an hour later, Mrs Gowler came up to see if she wanted anything, she saw that Mavis was far from well. She took her hand and found it hot and dry.
For a few moments Mrs Gowler attempted to lull Mavis's uneasiness by extravagant praise of infants' ways, which culminated in a hideous imitation of baby language. Suddenly she stopped; her little eyes glared fiercely at Mavis, while her face became rigid. "What's the matter?" asked the girl.
Morning and evening, which was the time when she had been accustomed to get letters from Wales, she would wait in a fever of anxiety till the post arrived; when it brought no letter for her, she suffered acute distress of mind. Upon the fifth evening after her baby was born, Mrs Gowler thrust an envelope beneath her door shortly after the postman had knocked.
Mavis made no reply. "Would you like a glass of stout?" asked Mrs Gowler. "No, thank you." "I'm going to open another bottle an' thought you'd join, jes' friendly like, as you might say. What with the work an' the 'eat of the kitchen, I tell yer, I can do with it." "I'm tired of sitting in this horrible passage. I wish you would show me to my room."
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