Similar conversations took place between them nearly every day. And when they were not interrupted by any external circumstance, Mrs. Dobbs would resolutely put an end to them by declining to pursue the subject.
One afternoon, about a week after May's return from her visit to the Hadlows', the young girl was seated at the old-fashioned square pianoforte, singing snatches of ballads in a fresh, untrained voice; Mr. Weatherhead had just taken his accustomed seat by the fireside; and Mrs. Dobbs was opposite to him in her own armchair, with the old tabby purring in the firelight at her feet, when Martha opened the parlour door softly, shut it quickly after her, and announced, with a slight tone of excitement in her usually quiet voice, that there was a gentleman in the passage asking for Miss May.
"For me, Martha?" exclaimed May, turning round at the sound of her own name, with one hand still on the keys of the pianoforte. "Who is he?"
"He said 'Miss Cheffington.' I don't know him, not by sight. But here's his card."
Mrs. Dobbs took the card from the servant, and put on her spectacles, bending down to read the name by the firelight. "Bun—Brun—oh, Bransby! Mr. Theodore Bransby. Ask the gentleman to walk in, Martha."
As Martha left the room, Mr. Weatherhead pointed to the door with one thumb, and whispered, "Wonder what he wants!" To which Mrs. Dobbs replied by lifting her shoulders and slightly shaking her head, as much as to say, "I'm sure I can't guess." The next moment Mr. Theodore Bransby was ushered into the parlour.
The room was rather dim, and Theodore did not immediately perceive May, who still sat at the piano. "Miss Cheffington?" he said interrogatively, with a stiff little gesture of the head towards Mrs. Dobbs, which might pass for a bow.
Mrs. Dobbs had risen from her chair, and now motioned her visitor to be seated. "My grand-daughter is here. Pray sit down, Mr. Theodore Bransby," she said. Then May got up, and came forward, and shook hands with him.
"I don't think you know my grandmother, Mrs. Dobbs," she said, presenting him.
Theodore, upon this, began to hold out his hand rather slowly; but, as Mrs. Dobbs made no answering gesture, but merely pointed again to a chair, he was fain to bow once more—a good deal more distinctly, this time—and to sit down with the sense of having received a little check.