“No, miss!” cried the girl excitedly, “it won’t do. ’Cusing people o’ being thiefs when it was nothing but a bit of a bundle o’ old rags and things I saved, as might ha’ been burnt, and they bought ’em of me, and I bought the ribbons o’ them.”
“I do not wish to hear anymore about that transaction, Liza; but I am glad to hear you can explain it away. You should have been frank at first.”
“So ought other people, miss, if you’ll excuse me; and not go taking away a poor servant’s character by alluding to money left on no chimley-pieces as I never took.”
“Liza!”
“Yes, miss; I know, and thinking o’ sending for the police.”
“I had too much feeling for you, Eliza, and for your future character. I did not even send you away.”
“I should think not indeed, miss. Mother and me’s as honest as the day; and if you want police send for ’em for them as has been picking and stealing.”
“My good girl, what do you mean?”
“Oh, you don’t know, o’ course, miss; but you very soon will. And him with his fine airs, and his boots never shiny enough. He’ll find out the difference now; and as to me staying in a home like this where one of us is a thief, I’ve got my character to look after, and—”
There was a sharp knock and ring, and from force of habit, Liza turned.