"Should you mind?
We were going down to see the Lavender Lady, you remember." "I'll go alone.

Anyway"-- smiling--"if you're safely tucked up in bed, I shall know you're not getting into any mischief while Doctor Dick's away! But very likely the hot water and mustard will put you all right." "Perhaps it will," agreed Molly hopefully.
The next morning, however, found her in bed, snuffling and complaining of headache, and pathetically resigned to the idea of spending the day between the sheets.

Obviously she was in no fit state to inflict her company on other people, so, in the afternoon, after settling her comfortably with a new novel and a box of cigarettes at her bedside, Sara took her solitary way to Rose Cottage.
There she found Garth Trent, sitting beside Herrick's couch and deep in an enthusiastic discussion of amateur photography.

But, immediately on her entrance, the eager, interested expression died out of his face, and very shortly after tea he made his farewells, nor could any soft blandishments on the part of the Lavender Lady prevail upon him to remain longer.
Sara felt hurt and resentful.

Since the day of the expedition to Devil's Hood Island, Trent had punctiliously avoided being in her company whenever circumstances would permit him to do so, and she was perfectly aware that it was her presence at Rose Cottage which was responsible for his early departure this afternoon.
A gleam of anger flickered in the black depths of her eyes as he shook hands.
"I'm sorry I've driven you away," she flashed at him beneath her breath, with a bitterness akin to his own.