It almost seemed as though the east wind had penetrated inside the comfortable house in Bloomsbury Square, and had poisoned that tranquil atmosphere. Helen was no longer the only discordant element there. Mrs. Desmond, whose calm boast it had always hitherto been that she never allowed herself to be influenced by weather, suddenly developed mysterious pains in her head which her doctor declared to be neuralgia. "The result of worry, I suppose?" suggested Mrs. Desmond with a mental reference to Helen. "No doubt, no doubt," he returned indifferently, for he could not imagine that this patient's worries were very serious ones; "no doubt. Ladies will worry, you know. You want tone, plenty of strong nourishment, and a change in the wind, that will soon set you up." The good doctor sighed a little as he walked down-stairs. It was so easy to order good nourishment for the mistress of this luxurious house where there was such absolute certainty that he would be obeyed. There were other houses distant not five minutes' walk, where the very words were a mockery. Suddenly he stopped. An idea had occurred to him, and he ran back. "By the way," he said, re-opening the drawing-room door, "I am just going on to see a poor woman who is suffering much in the same way as yourself. She keeps herself and six children by her needle, poor soul. A few glasses of port wine--" "Really, doctor," interrupted Mrs. Desmond, "I am sick of giving. It is nothing but give, give nowadays. Why do these poor people have so many children? And, besides, there is always the workhouse. Really I have nothing to give just now." The doctor turned away shrugging his shoulders, and nearly tumbled over Helen, who, on her way down-stairs, had stopped and overheard the foregoing conversation. "Hullo! young lady," he cried, "what is the matter with you? Has the east wind been upsetting you too?" "Oh, no!" returned Helen, "I only--" "Only what?" "_Do_ let me come down into the hall with you." "Run on, I'm coming." "Oh!" cried Helen as they reached the hall, drawing the doctor out of earshot of the waiting servant, "I have been watching for you all the morning. Do you know that my father is ill?" "He hasn't sent for me." "No, because he doesn't want to worry--mamma"--Helen jerked the word out--"now that she is ill herself. But all the same he is very bad. He was in the school-room with me last evening, and he nearly fainted. You must, please, see him." "Is he in the house now?" Helen nodded. "I can't stop a moment, Miss Walker is waiting for me. But"--turning very red and fumbling in her pocket--"father gave me a new half-crown last evening. It is no good to me; they won't let me spend it. Please give it to that poor woman." "That I will, child, and see your father too, and--"