"Oh, won't you—oh, do tell me," implored Josie. "Have you heard the least little bit of anything about Vi?"
"It is just possible; I can say no more than that. A friend of mine has come across a child who might be—may be—but it is all uncertain. To-morrow I shall search out all particulars, and go to see her."
"And won't you tell mother?"
"On no account. The uncertainty, and the possible disappointment after all, would half kill her. Josie, for her sake, you must allow no sign of this to escape you in her presence,—not even an allusion to what you have heard."
"No, I won't—I won't," promised Josie. "But how soon shall we know?"
"You may depend upon me to look in to-morrow evening, whether I have anything certain or not to tell you."
"Is it near here that the little girl lives? Fancy, if she is Vi!" cried Josie.
"No, far away, quite in another part of London. She lives with an old charwoman."
"Vi herself! Think of that! Won't it be a change for her to come home? Don't you think it must be Vi?"
"I can't say. It may be, but that is all, though I certainly have hopes."