her heart, she was afraid of her friend, and afraid of herself. Mrs.
Carter's company had, of late, been pleasant to her. She had been
strengthened in her own resolves towards a fine life by the sight of
Mrs. Carter's struggle in that direction, and that good woman's genial
amiability (when it was so obvious from her appearance that she could be
far otherwise) flattered Mrs. Slater's sense of power. No, she could not
now bear to let Mrs. Carter go.

She said, therefore, nothing to her friend about the whisky, and on that
evening Mrs. Carter did take the "veriest sip." But the cold
continued--it continued in a marvellous and terrible manner. It seemed
"to 'ave taken right 'old of 'er system."

After a few evenings it was part of the ceremonies that the bottle
should be produced; the kettle was boiling happily on the fire, there
was lemon, there was a lump of sugar.... On a certain wet and depressing
evening Mrs. Slater herself had a glass "just to see that she didn't get
a cold like Mrs. Carter's."


IV

Henry's bed-time was somewhere between the hours of eight and nine, but
his mother did not care to leave Mrs. Carter (dear friend, though she
was) quite alone downstairs with the bottom half of the house unguarded
(although, of course, the doors were locked), therefore, Mrs. Carter
came upstairs with her friend to see the little fellow put to bed; "and
a hangel he looks, if ever I see one," declared the lady
enthusiastically.