“Well, then, Owlet—I think we will get tea. And by that time, Mr. William will be home,” said the seamstress, as she lighted her kerosene lamp, stood it on the mantelpiece, took her kettle and went to the water spigot to fill it.
When she had done this and was returning along the passage she met Harcourt at the top of the stairs, with a small paper bag in his hands.
“Oh, Mr. William,” she said, “I want you, if you please, to come and take tea with us.”
“‘Us,’ Annie? ‘Us’ has a very pleasant sound. Yes, I will, thank you. And here are some cutlets I bought to cook for the child. Will you take them to add to our tea?” he asked, putting the paper bag in her hand.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. William; this will come in very well,” she said.
“How is the little one?”
“Oh, bless you! splendid! I have got all her little story from her, as well as a smart child of her age could give it.”
“Indeed! What——”
“Now, wait! The story is too long to be told here at the top of the stairs with the tea kettle in my hand. Wait until after we have had our tea and I have put the child to bed; then I will tell you all about it. Her pet name is Owlet. She likes to be called by it. That is all you need to know just yet.”
“Quite right, Annie. I will go into my room and brush myself up a little, and then join you and the child,” he said, as he passed into his own apartment.