The woman hurried out, and Louise sat gazing at the door, thinking that the woman’s manner was strange.
“I am upset,” she said with a sigh, “and that makes things seem different.”
She had been dreaming over her work for a few minutes when she started, for she heard voices talking loudly. She sat up in her chair with her senses on the strain, trembling lest there should be bad news from the Van Heldre’s. She was nor kept long in suspense, for there was a quick step in the hall, a sharp rap at the door, and Liza entered, scarlet with excitement and exertion, her shawl over one arm, her hat hanging by its strings from the other.
“Liza!”
“Yes, miss, it’s me. Can I speak to you a minute?”
“Have you brought news from Mr Van Heldre’s?”
“Which I have, miss, and I haven’t.”
“How is he?” cried Louise, paying no heed to Liza’s paradoxical declaration.
“No better, and no worse, miss; but it wasn’t about that. I leaves you this day month, miss; and as much sooner as you can suit yourself.”
“Very well, Liza. That will do.”