She swung her legs over the breadth of the bed, disorganizing Jessie,
planted her feet in the array of glass and stood up. As she did so the
doctor mounted her doorstep, plied the knocker and rang the bell. Cuckoo
stood listening. A fragment of glass had really penetrated the bare sole
of her foot, which bled a little gently on the carpet. But she scarcely
knew it. She heard Mrs. Brigg go by, and then steps sounding in the
passage. Then there came to her ears a quiet voice with a very
characteristic note of bright calmness in it. Standing in her frilled
nightdress among the bits of glass, Cuckoo flushed scarlet all over her
face and neck. She knew who the visitor was. With one dart she reached
the washhand-stand. Sponges, brushes, combs, all her weapons of the
toilet, were immediately in commotion, and when Mrs. Brigg opened her
door, the room was a whirlpool of quick activities, in the midst of
which, as on a frouzy throne, Jessie stood upon the bed barking
excitedly. Mrs. Brigg came in and closed the door. Her thin lips were
pursed.
"Light the fire!" Cuckoo called at her from the basin.
"What do you want the doctor for?"
Mrs. Brigg uttered the words with some suspicion.
"Hurry up and light the fire!"
Cuckoo turned round, her hands darting in her hair, and actually laughed
with a touch of merriment.
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