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Updated: May 4, 2025
Who else d'ye think I meant?" Three days later, Mavis severed her connection with "Poulter's." Mavis was loth to take it; but seeing the dancing-master's distress at her hesitation, she reluctantly pocketed the money. Miss Nippett also gave her a specially taken photograph of herself. "Where's your shawl?" asked Mavis, who missed this familiar adjunct from the photograph.
With the money that Miss Nippett instructed her to find in queer hiding-places, Mavis purchased bovril, eggs, and brandy, with which she did her best to patch up the enfeebled frame of the sick woman. Nothing that she or the doctor could do had any permanent effect; every evening, Miss Nippett's temperature would rise with alarming persistence.
Somehow, Mavis could not help smiling at the mental picture of her friend which had suddenly occurred to her. In this, she had imagined Miss Nippett with a crown on her head and a harp in her hand, singing celestial melodies at the top of her voice. The next moment, she reproached herself for this untimely thought; her heart ached at the extremity of the little old woman huddled up in the bed.
She had read much the same sort of thing in books, which were always informed with life. The minutes of the American clock, which had belonged to Miss Nippett, laboriously totalled into an hour. Mavis could hear Gunner uneasily shuffling in the room below. The late August evening was drawing in. Mavis quite succeeded in persuading herself that this would prove the last night of her misfortunes.
Mavis hastily assented; she was about to ask for Miss Meakin's address, but Miss Nippett was too quick for her. "D'ye think he'll win?" "Who?" "Mr Poulter, of course. 'Aven't you 'eard?" "Tell me." "Oh, I say, you are ignorant! He's competing for the great cotillion prize competition. I thought everybody knew about it." "I think I've heard something. But could you tell me Miss Meakin's address?"
You haven't heard of the rivalry between mushroom Gellybrand's and old-established 'Poulter's'?" exclaimed Mr Poulter. Mavis did not know what to say. "Some people is ignorant!" commented Miss Nippett at her silence. "Gellybrand is the greatest scoundrel and blackleg in the history of dancing," continued Poulter.
A time came when he could do no more; he told Mavis that the accompanist would soon be beyond further need of mortal aid. The news seemed to strike a chill to Mavis' heart. Owing to their frequent meetings, Miss Nippett had become endeared to her: she could hardly speak for emotion. "How long will it be?" she asked. "She'll probably drag through the night.
When he was gone, Miss Nippett exclaimed: "Oh, why ever did you?" "How was I to know?" Mavis asked. "I thought everyone knew. Don't, whatever you do, don't again. It makes him angrier than he was when once the band eat up all the light refreshments." "He's a very charming man," remarked Mavis. "But his brains! It's his brains that fetches me." "Really!"
Mavis sat down to a plateful of what looked uncommonly like her old friend, brisket of beef; she was now so hungry that she was glad to get anything so substantial. "'Ow are you gettin' on?" asked a familiar voice over her shoulder. Mavis looked up, to see Miss Nippett, who had discarded her cap and apron; she was now in her usual rusty frock, with her shawl upon her narrow, stooping shoulders.
Then, although she feared to believe the evidence of her ears, a knock was heard at the door. After what seemed an interval of centuries, she heard footsteps ascending the stairs. Mavis glanced at Miss Nippett. She was horrified to see that her friend was heedless of Mr Poulter's possible approach. She moved quickly to the door. To her unspeakable relief, Mr Poulter stood outside.
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