But they were, he thought, no less
kind to him; Mrs. Warbeck invited him to the house about once a month, and
Alma--Alma talked with him in such a pleasant, homely way. Did their
expenditure outrun their means? He would never have supposed it, but for
the City man's singular behaviour. About the cheque so often promised he
cared little, but with all his heart he hoped Mrs. Warbeck did not know.
Somewhere near Camberwell Green, just as he had resumed the debate about
his purchases, a middle-aged woman met him with friendly greeting. Her
appearance was that of a decent shopkeeper's wife.
'I'm so glad I've met you, Mr. Bird. I know you'll be anxious to hear how
our poor friend is getting on.'
She spoke of the daughter of a decayed tradesman, a weak and overworked
girl, who had lain for some weeks in St. Thomas's Hospital. Mrs. Pritchard,
a gadabout infected with philanthropy, was fond of discovering such cases,
and in everyday conversation made the most of her charitable efforts.
'They'll allow her out in another week,' she pursued. 'But, of course, she
can't expect to be fit for anything for a time. And I very much doubt
whether she'll ever get the right use of her limbs again.
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