"Now, Miss Margery, it's time we were going," said Jane quickly. "You know you promised me you would not stay a minute if I let you come in."
"All right; I'm ready," responded Margery; but she turned again to Michael ere she left the shop.
"Do you live here all by yourself, Mr. Betts? It's very lonely for you, isn't it? But I suppose people don't mind that when they get old."
He made no reply, except to bid her good day; and the next minute the green cloak and long golden locks had floated on the wind round the corner, and he was alone once more.
Was it very lonely for him? He had not thought so before; but to-day, as he looked round on the dingy old shop, so closely packed with books, and later, as he sat eating alone with little appetite the ill-cooked, unsavoury meal which his charwoman had prepared for him, he had a vague sense that his life was empty, and dull, and unlovely, and that he wanted something more for happiness than his trade could give him, even though he was making a good thing of it.
Almost the first thing Michael Betts saw when he unfolded his newspaper the next morning was the announcement of the death of Professor Lavers. After he had read the brief notice more than once, he read nothing more for some time. He sat with his breakfast untasted before him, gazing abstractedly at the row of bookshelves opposite. But he did not see the titles printed on the dingy covers. He was seeing a wee, winsome face, half hidden by drooping curls, and hearing the music of a sweet, childish voice. When he roused himself, it was to sigh heavily, and say half aloud, "It's a sad pity. It's a sad pity for that sweet little maid."
[CHAPTER IV]
MICHAEL MAKES A GOOD BARGAIN
SOME weeks passed by, and Michael saw nothing more of little Margery. He thought of her more than once, wondering how it was with her and her little brother, now that their father was no more. Sometimes when the sudden tinkling of the bell over the shop door warned him of the approach of a customer, he would look up, half hoping that he might see the wee figure in the green cloak and close-fitting velvet bonnet. But Margery did not come, and if she had, she would not have worn the green cloak. That had been exchanged for sombre black, which gave a new and pathetic beauty to her sweet, round, pink and white face.
More than a month had passed since the professor's death, when one evening the servant who had accompanied little Margery when she came to pay the fourpence entered the shop, and asked Michael if he could call at No. 48, Gower Street, on the following morning, as her mistress wished to see him. After a moment's reflection, Michael replied that he would come, and added an inquiry as to the health of the little lady who had accompanied her when she came before.