"Rupert? No," says mother. "Rupert was another guess sort of a man. Stuff enough there, Kittenkins. And you might have had him," says she, with a queer look at me; "only you thought you'd sooner have a limp thing for a husband."
"O mother, it's no good to talk of that now," I said. "Rupert's married long ago, I don't doubt."
"I do," says mother, very low.
"And if Mr. Russell wasn't Mary's brother, I'd never give a thought to him again," I said.
"No, and we won't," says mother, and she patted my hand that lay on her arm. She had grown so endearing in her ways, much more than she was used to be before our troubles.
Well, we got home, and mother went upstairs. Mary was in, and I told her all about what had happened.
Mary said, "Ah! I wanted to spare your mother seeing him!"
But I don't think she was sorry it had happened. She put down her work and went after mother.
So I was left alone; and I pulled off my hat and sat down to the sewing-machine. I hadn't been working it for five minutes, when there was a heavy step in the passage—the front door having been left open—and then a tap at the dining-room door.
"Come in," I said.