“Very well, Clifford. If we don’t settle something by tomorrow, I shall telegraph to father, and we shall take Connie away.”

“Will Connie go?” asked Clifford.

“She doesn’t want to, but she knows she must. Mother died of cancer, brought on by fretting. We’re not running any risks.”

So next day Clifford suggested Mrs. Bolton, Tevershall parish nurse. Apparently Mrs. Betts had thought of her. Mrs. Bolton was just retiring from her parish duties to take up private nursing jobs. Clifford had a queer dread of delivering himself into the hands of a stranger, but this Mrs. Bolton had once nursed him through scarlet fever, and he knew her.