"Yes. You have heard of him?" Since her companion had evinced some knowledge of the Vicar of St. John's, it did not occur to Peggy as at all unlikely that she should know something of the organist too. "He plays most beautifully," she continued impressively. "Mr. Tiddy will tell you so, for he heard him one Sunday evening when he went to church with us. It was the first time I had been to church after my accident. Oh, I haven't told you about that! I was knocked down when I was out with Billy, and it was a great wonder that I was not killed!"
And she recounted the story of her adventure at some length, utterly unconscious of the effect it was having upon her listener, who had lost all her colour again now, and was looking paler than before.
"The—the person in the carriage would not have understood that you were blind," the old lady remarked at length, subsequent to a long pause which had followed the conclusion of Peggy's tale.
"No, of course not," the little girl agreed, "but Mr. Maloney says the least she could have done would have been to have driven me home. Billy thinks she didn't care, if I was hurt or not. And—isn't it strange?—she's supposed to be a very charitable person!"
"Then you know who she is?"
"Oh, yes! She gave the policeman her card, and mother used to know her quite well—years ago."
"Ah!"
"I—I am afraid I have been talking too much," Peggy said hesitatingly, with a sudden touch of reserve in her tone as she became aware that she had let her tongue run away with her. She hoped she had not wearied her companion with her chatter.
"Why did you say she—the person in the carriage, I mean—is supposed to be very charitable?" asked the old lady presently.
"Because she gives away heaps and heaps of money," was the prompt reply.