"Charlotte's in a hurry."
The door-bell rang. Celia was in the kitchen, stirring up a pudding. It
was April now, and Celia's knee was so far mended that she could be
about the house without her crutches, with certain restrictions as to
standing, or using the knee in any way likely to strain it.
It was Charlotte who did the running about, and it was she who started
for the door now, after casting one hasty look around the bath-room to
make sure that the baby could do herself no harm.
Left to herself, Ellen investigated the resources of the bath-room and
found them wanting. After she had thrown two towels, the soap and her
own small tooth brush back into the tub from which she had lately
emerged, and which Charlotte had not yet emptied, she found her means of
entertainment at an end. The other toilet articles were all beyond her
reach. She gazed out of the window; there was nothing moving to be seen
but a row of Mrs. Fields's dish-towels waving in the wind.
She turned to the door. Charlotte had meant to latch it, but it was a
door with a peculiar trick of swinging slowly open an inch after it had
apparently been closed, and it had not been latched.
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