"So he said. But what became of it?"
"Ain't you ever had it?"
"No; we could never find it."
"Why didn't you look under the bottom of her little desk?" Mrs. Murphy demanded in much excitement.
"Under the bottom of her desk?" he repeated.
"The double bottom. The little traveling-desk with the little pictures on the corners. She was that contrary that she wasn't willing you should find it all fair and open. She wanted to tease you a while before you found out she'd changed her mind and give in."
"Maurice," Ashe broke in, "we have overstayed our time."
Wynne rose at once, the habit of obedience being strong. Mrs. Murphy clung to his hand, mumbling over it with tears of delight, and could hardly be persuaded to let them go. It was only when he had promised to return on the next day, and the slatternly girl had peremptorily ordered her patient to lie down and stop acting like a buzz-headed fool, that he escaped. He hurried down the dark stairway and out of the house with a step to which excitement lent speed, while Philip followed in silence.
As they were leaving the court they encountered a middle-aged priest, evidently an Irishman, with a kindly face and a bright eye.
"Can you tell me," he asked in a rich brogue, greeting them in friendly fashion, "where Mrs. Tim Murphy lives?"