“Miss Madlin!” she said to herself. “I’d know her walk anywhere. And all in black, too. Ah!”
Poll Perrow stopped short with her mouth open.
“How horrid!” she ejaculated. “It killed him then, after all. Poor Master Van Heldre! Poor Master Harry Vine!”
She rubbed a tear away with her rough brown hand. Then starting up, she made the mussels in her basket rattle.
“What nonsense!” she said. “Why Master Crampton told me last night, and down the street, that Master Van Heldre was much better, and he couldn’t ha’ died and Miss Madlin gone in mourning since last night. They couldn’t ha’ got the gownd made.”
By this time Madelaine had reached the Vines’ gate and gone in.
“Phew!”
Poll Perrow gave vent to a low whistle, something like the cry of a gull.
“Why, I know!” she muttered. “Miss Madlin’s gone into mourning all along o’ Master Harry. Then my Liza’s a great goose. She was fond of him after all. Why I only to think!”
She turned off down a narrow path, so as to get round to the back door, where she was met by Liza, looking very red and angry.