“Has he not come back?” said Ellen, hoarsely. “Has not Mr Richard Pellet returned?”
“No,” said Harry, quietly. “I am waiting for him.”
“Who are you?” said his companion, abruptly.
“Who am I?” said Harry, smiling good-humouredly. “My name is Clayton.”
“Her son?” she exclaimed.
“The late Mrs Clayton’s son, if that is what you mean; and Mr Pellet is my stepfather!”
“I thought so; and where is she?”
“In heaven, I trust,” said Harry, reverently.
“Dead! dead! And did he kill her, as he killed me, to marry some one else?”
“Hush!” said Harry. “Perhaps you had better go,” he said to the clerk, who was feasting, open-mouthed, upon the gossip banquet before him, but immediately left the room.