‘A boy, miss.’ For an instant Susan’s heart feels relief, but for an instant only.
‘Whose boy?’ falters she.
‘I don’t know, miss. He came an’ wint in a flash like. I hope, miss, as there isn’t anythin’ desthructive in it,’ says Jane, whose misfortunes of the morning have raised in her a pessimistic spirit. ‘They do say thim moonlighters are goin’ about agin.’
‘Do you mean to say the—the messenger said nothing?’
‘No, miss, except that it was for you. That was all, miss; and I’m not deaf, though I wish I was before I heard all that was said to me this mornin’ about an ould cup that——’ Here she lifts her apron and sniffs vigorously behind it.
‘Oh, it can’t be for me,’ says Susan, with decision; ‘take it away, Jane. There has been some mistake, of course. Take it away at once. Do you hear? The—the boy will probably call for it again in a little time.’
‘I don’t think he will, miss; he looked like a runaway,’ says Jane.
‘Good heavens! how interesting,’ says Mr. Fitzgerald, breaking at last into the charmed silence that has held them all since the advent of Jane and the mysterious basket. ‘Who can this unknown admirer be? No doubt it contains roses’—staring at the basket—‘or heliotropes—heliotrope in the language of flowers means devotion! Susan, are you above a peep?’
‘Yes, I am,’ says Susan hastily.
‘I am not,’ says Betty, springing forward and pulling open the cover. ‘Oh, I say, cherries! and such beauties, too! Susan, you are in luck!’