“Thank you; it is for me,” rejoined her lodger, hastily tearing it open and running her eyes over it. As she read, she became crimson with amazement and agitation. “Come at once—to-day if possible. News of your father.—From Mrs. Harper, Streambridge,” was the message.
“But it’s for Miss West, and you’ve gone and opened it!” exclaimed the landlady, suspiciously. “How is that, eh? I never would have supposed—no, never,” folding her arms belligerently, “as you wasn’t on the square; and as I’ve allus kep’ a respectable ’ouse, I couldn’t think——”
“You need not think, Mrs. Kane; you need not alarm yourself about the matter, it is all quite right. I am Mrs. Wynne, but I was Miss West once upon a time. The sender of the message does not know that I am married,” interrupted Madeline, speaking with studied composure—though her heart was beating fearfully fast.
Insolent as Mrs. Kane was, she dared not quarrel with her. Her roof covered them on sufferance. Were she to thrust them forth, where were they to go? They were entirely at her mercy, for they owed her money; and latterly she had been inclined to take out a large amount of interest in rude insolence, biting gibes, and unpleasant hints with regard to “paupers a coming and settling down on poor, honest, hard-working people—paupers as could afford dress, and theatres, and pianos once, and saved nothing for a rainy day!”
Paupers—impecunious people like the Wynnes, especially Mrs. Wynne, who bore the brunt of these encounters—could not afford to stand on their dignity, and be independent and “move on.” They must submit humbly; but it was insufferably galling—as galling to Madeline as Miss Selina’s yoke, that had pressed upon her so sorely but one little year ago.
Who but herself knew with what deprecating eyes and voice she had pleaded with her impatient landlady for a little time, how humbly she ventured to ask for coals, how stealthily she crept up and down stairs, carrying baby, and doing her own miserable errands, making her presence as unobtrusive as possible, for fear of offending her hostess’s threatening eyes.
The hostess’s threatening eyes were fixed upon her now, with a look that was an insult, as she listened to her hurried explanation with a down-drawn lip.
“Oh, well, I suppose, as I know no better, I must believe you,” and with a noisy sniff that intimated quite the reverse, Mrs. Kane glared once round their squalid sitting-room, to see if anything were broken or missing, or the valuable property damaged in any way; and, failing to discover the smallest pretext for complaint, passed out of the apartment with a heavy and aggressive strut, and banged the door behind her.
Madeline lost not a second in rushing to the invalid with the great news, and placing the slip of pink paper in his hand.
“There is something at last! I feel that a change is coming; these terrible days cannot—cannot go on for ever. I believe my father is alive, and coming home! What do you think, Laurence?” she asked, and her voice trembled.