“Mrs. Hochmuller. This is surely her house?”
“No, it ain't neither,” said the woman turning away.
“Oh, but wait, please,” Ann Eliza entreated. “I can't be mistaken. I mean the Mrs. Hochmuller who takes in washing. I came out to see her last June.”
“Oh, the Dutch washerwoman is it—her that used to live here? She's been gone two months and more. It's Mike McNulty lives here now. Whisht!” to the baby, who had squared his mouth for a howl.
Ann Eliza's knees grew weak. “Mrs. Hochmuller gone? But where has she gone? She must be somewhere round here. Can't you tell me?”
“Sure an' I can't,” said the woman. “She wint away before iver we come.”
“Dalia Geoghegan, will ye bring the choild in out av the cowld?” cried an irate voice from within.
“Please wait—oh, please wait,” Ann Eliza insisted. “You see I must find Mrs. Hochmuller.”
“Why don't ye go and look for her thin?” the woman returned, slamming the door in her face.
She stood motionless on the door-step, dazed by the immensity of her disappointment, till a burst of loud voices inside the house drove her down the path and out of the gate.