"Really? Poor old thing! When did she die?"
"Yesterday morning. The place is becoming quite respectable now—a veritable land of promise. And that reminds me again I have to go down there in the morning to finish up one or two things, and in the afternoon, dear, you know I am going back to Thorpe. Augustine's got a cold, and you know what Augustine is with a cold!"
"Poor Mr. Parsley—he is very good. I sometimes think I should like to change places with you, and go down and look after him while you're looking after Lambeth," said Miriam, just to see how she would take it.
"Indeed, my dear, you'll do nothing of the kind. You'd spoil him altogether, that's what you'd do. I understand Augustine and he understands me. He'd break out in all sorts of fresh places with any other treatment than what I give him. Besides, he likes to be alone—he always says I'm the only woman he could stand. Not that he means it, you know—he doesn't. He thinks all women a nuisance, except when he's ill—then he's glad enough to have 'em, I can tell you. Now, dear, I must really go. I shall have tea at the Stores. Who's that at the door I wonder?—let me get out of sight. Good-bye, Miriam dear."
She kissed her and hurried off. They were in the dining-room. Miriam remained where she was, awaiting the announcement of her visitor whoever it might prove to be.
The name brought in to her was that of "Mrs. Latham."
"Mrs. Latham?" she repeated to herself. "I don't know any Mrs. Latham."
She went into the little drawing-room. Her visitor was closely veiled and in the deepest black. She looked at her.
"You don't know me, Miriam?"
"Hilda! Is it you? Mrs. Latham!—but—-"