"Wait a day or two," I suggested; "she won’t expect an answer by return because you’ve got to make your ’investigations,’ you know." He groaned. "How can I? If there’s one thing I wholeheartedly abhor it’s poking and prying into another person’s affairs—it’s so ... ungentlemanly. I wouldn’t do it to my worst enemy, but when it’s a decent, kindly body who has been my right hand in every good thing that’s been done in this village ever since she came.... Look here, my dear. Perhaps you—without hurting her feelings—could find out something to satisfy Mrs. Robinson. It would come better from you." I doubted this, but I promised the poor worried vicar to do my best. I walked back to Snig’s as fast as I could, for I was chilled to the bone. It certainly was a very cold east wind. Mrs. Cushion was back when I arrived. A bright fire blazed on my hearth and hot muffins awaited me for tea. She looked cold and depressed, and she had no news for me either of the fashions in the "Ziren" shop windows or of acquaintances she had met. Even references to her beloved boys failed to elicit more than monosyllables. Next morning she began to cough. For a day and a half she struggled on doing her household work as usual. Through the night I heard her coughing so incessantly that I got up and went across to her room. It had turned very cold, and in spite of her protests, I lit a fire and did what I could to relieve her, in the shape of hot black-currant tea and rubbing her with embrocation. I also took her temperature, which was 104°! In the morning she was so ill that she consented to stay in bed, and I sent a note to the doctor by the boy that brought the milk. When he came he declared Mrs. Cushion to be down with influenza, and that she must be very careful. He would send in the parish nurse that morning and a woman to do for me. If a trained nurse should be necessary, he’d get one, but he thought if I could stay for a day or two to superintend things we could manage. Warmth, rest, and quiet in bed till her temperature went down were all that was necessary. Everything went smoothly. The parish nurse was a personal friend of Mrs. Cushion. The woman sent in "mornings" was most attentive and efficient, and the fact that she was no cook did not seem to matter, for so much more than Mrs. Cushion could eat was sent in by sympathetic neighbours that we lived on the fat of the land on the surplus. If there had ever been any question as to Mrs. Cushion’s popularity in Redmarley, it was answered now, and in the most emphatic way. Anxious inquirers came at all hours, and I spent most of my time watching the garden that I might open the door, front or back, before the visitor could rap—you rap with your knuckles in Redmarley, whether the door happens to be open or shut: the latter only occurs in cold weather or on washing-days.