"Yes, aunt Eliza, there is."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mrs. Gunn, emptying the water-jug into the tea-pot in pure absence of mind. "You saw him with one, did you?"
"Yes, aunt Eliza, I did."
"And what was she like, Sabina?"
"Well, some folks would call her handsome," said Sabina dubiously; "and she was dressed like a lady—I'll say that for her. But what's odd is that I'm nearly sure I heard her call him 'father.' She's young enough to be his daughter, anyway."
"Did he call her anything?"
"I couldn't hear. But I'll tell you what I did afterwards, aunt Eliza; I followed her when she came out at the gate—and she didn't see me then. She went straight to a house in Norton Square; and I managed to make some inquiries about her at a confectioner's shop in the neighborhood. The house belongs to a music-mistress; and this girl is a singer. 'Cynthia West,' they call her—I've seen her name in the newspapers. Well, I thought I would wait round a bit, and presently I saw a man go to the house to deliver a note; and thinks I to myself, 'I know that face.' And so I did. It was Mr. Lepel's man, Jenkins, as used to come down with him to Beechfield."
"You don't say so!" cried Mrs. Gunn, raising her hands in amazement.
"He knew me," Sabina proceeded tranquilly; "and so we had a little chat together. I says to him, 'Who is it you take notes to at number five—the old lady or the young one?' 'Oh,' says he, 'the young one, to be sure. Scrumptious, isn't she?' 'Cynthia West?' says I. 'Yes,' he says—'and Mrs. Hubert Lepel before very long, if I've got eyes to see! He's always after her.' 'That ain't very likely,' I said, 'because he's got a young lady already in the country.' 'One in the country and one in the town,' he says, with a wink—'that's the usual style, isn't it?' And, seeing that he was disposed to be familiar, I said good-day to him and came away."
"What will you do now then, Sabina?"