“Of course,” he whispered, “you won’t—That is to say, you needn’t tell Laura I went down—”
“Certainly not,” whispered Billy. “It was awfully kind of you to think of it. But I’ll make this one do.”
Mr. Fenelby waited at the door a moment longer as if he had something more to say, but Billy had closed the door, and he went back to his room.
It was with relief that Bridget heard the door close behind Mr. Fenelby. She had been standing on the little landing of the back-stairs, where he had almost caught her as she was coming up. If she had been one step higher he would have seen her head. Usually she would not have minded this, for she had a perfect right to be on the back-stairs in the early morning, but this time she felt that it was her duty to remain undiscovered. Now that Mr. Fenelby was gone she softly stepped to Billy’s door and knocked lightly.
“Misther Billy, sor, are ye there?” she whispered. Billy opened the door a crack and looked out.
“Mornin’ to ye,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry t’ disthurb ye, but Missus Fenelby axed me t’ bring up th’ collar ye left on th’ porrch railin’, an’ t’ let no wan know I done it, an’ I just wanted t’ let ye know th’ reason I have not brung it up is because belike someone else has brang it already, for it is gone.”
“Thank you, Bridget,” whispered Billy. “It doesn’t matter.”
She turned away, but when he had closed the door she paused, and after hesitating a moment she tapped on his door again. He opened it.
“I have put me foot in it,” she said, “like I always do. W’u’d ye be so good as t’ fergit I mentioned th’ name of Missus Fenelby, that’s a dear man? I raymimber now I was not t’ mention it t’ ye.”
“Certainly, Bridget,” said Billy, and he closed the door and went again to the window, where he was turning his socks over and over in the streak of sunlight that warmed a part of the window sill.