"Know all," almost yelled Deborah, dragging down the apron and revealing flashing eyes, "and it's a mussy I ain't in Old Bailey this very day for scratching that monkey of a Pash. Oh, if I'd known wot he wos never should he 'ave got me the laundry, though the same may have to go, worse luck. Ho, yuss! he come, and she come with her kitting, as is almost as big a cat as she is. Mrs. Krill, bless her, oh, yuss, Mrs. Krill, the sneakin', smiling Jezebel."
"Did she see Sylvia?" asked Beecot, sharply.
"Yuss, she did," admitted Deborah, "me lettin' her in not knowin' her scratchin's. An' the monkey an' the kitting come too—a-spyin' out the land as you may say. W'en I 'eard the noos I 'owled Mr. Paul, but my pretty she turned white like one of them plaster stateys as boys sell cheap in the streets, and ses she, she ses, 'Oh Paul'—if you'll forgive me mentioning your name, sir, without perliteness."
"Bless her, my darling. Did she think of me," said Beecot, tenderly.
"Ah, when do she not think of you, sir? 'Eart of gold, though none in her pocket by means of that Old Bailey woman as is a good match fur my Old Bailey master. Ho! he wos a bad 'un, and 'ow Miss Sylvia ever come to 'ave sich a par beats me. But I thank 'eaven the cat ain't my pretty's mar, though she do 'ave a daughter of her own, the painted, stuck-up parcel of bad bargains."
Paul nodded. "Calling names won't do any good, Deborah," he said sadly; "we must do the best we can."
"There ain't no chance of the lawr gettin' that woman to the gallers I 'spose, sir?"
"The woman is your late master's lawful wife. Pash seems to think so and has gone over to the enemy"—here Deborah clenched her mighty fists and gasped. "Sylvia's mother was married later, and as the former wife is alive Sylvia is—"
"No," shouted Deborah, flinging out her hand, "don't say it."
"Sylvia is poor," ended Paul, calmly. "What did you think I was about to say, Deborah?"