"No, Lamb. Not your Nannie. Your Nannie knows what it's been like for you. I know him, Miss Genevieve. I know he didn't give you the money."
"No, Nannie. He laughed at me. Laughed—"
"He's a beast! That's what he is, Miss. He should have give it to you. And him going away himself. He was telling me only to-day. Into the country."
"What?"
"Oh, Miss. I hate to say such things to you. He's going with that black-haired woman;—the latest one, she is. He thinks she works too hard. He's taking her off for a rest. Is anything the matter? Aren't you well, darling?"
Genevieve Evans swayed dizzily for a second her one hand reaching out blindly before her.
The woman came quickly and took the hand between both of her hands and stroked it.
"Nannie, I'm sick—sick!"
"Nannie's darling—; Nannie's pet."
From somewhere in the house came the silvery, tinkling sound of a clock striking seven times.