“I thought,” said Becky, upon Mrs. Preedy’s return, “as my little cousin has no home now, and as there is plenty of room in the house, that you might let her remain here as a lodger.”
“As a lodger!” said Mrs. Preedy, in a tone of surprise and satisfaction.
“Of course,” continued Becky, “I couldn’t ask you to let her stay here for nothing, and as I have plenty of money I can afford to pay for her. Then she can help me a bit now and then. She can live in the kitchen, and sleep with me. I’ll look after her, and nobody need know anything about it but ourselves. I wouldn’t mind eight or ten shillings a week.”
Mrs. Preedy, with more eagerness than she was in the habit of exhibiting, agreed to Becky’s proposition, and said they would split the difference, and make it nine shillings a week for Fanny’s board and lodging.
“And if you won’t mind my mentioning it,” said Becky, “if you are pressed for a few pounds I should be glad to let you have it till the lodgers come back to the house.”
This offer completed the conquest. Mrs. Preedy shook Becky by the hand, and vowed that, from the moment she had entered her service, she had looked upon her more as a daughter than as a domestic, and that she was sure she and Becky and Fanny would get along famously together. So gushing did she become that she offered Becky a glass of gin and water, which Becky declined. A double knock at the street door startled them both, and they went in company to answer it. A telegraph boy stood on the step.
“Does Becky live here?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered the two women.
“A telegram,” he said, holding out the buff-coloured envelope.
Becky took it, and opened it in the kitchen. It was from “Fred” to “Becky,” and ran:—“I return to London by to-night’s mail. Do not write again until you see or hear from me.”