"I think I knows it now, miss," she said, respectfully, as Madge looked up with a smile.
"Do you, indeed?" said Madge, gaily. "You will be able to read in no time, Sal."
"Read this?" said Sal, touching "Tristan: A Romance, by Zoe."
"Hardly!" said Madge, picking it up, with a look of contempt.
"I want you to learn English, and not a confusion of tongues like this thing. But it's too hot for lessons, Sal," she went on, leaning back in her seat, "so get a chair and talk to me."
Sal complied, and Madge looked out at the brilliant flower-beds, and at the black shadow of the tall witch elm which grew on one side of the lawn. She wanted to ask a certain question of Sal, and did not know how to do it. The moodiness and irritability of Brian had troubled her very much of late, and, with the quick instinct of her sex, she ascribed it indirectly to the woman who had died in the back slum. Anxious to share his troubles and lighten his burden, she determined to ask Sal about this mysterious woman, and find out, if possible, what secret had been told to Brian which affected him so deeply.
"Sal," she said, after a short pause, turning her clear grey eyes on the woman, "I want to ask you something."
The other shivered and turned pale.
"About—about that?"
Madge nodded.