Those were the first words Claire had uttered since the inquest, and they were followed by a fresh burst of sobs.
“Oh, come, come. Do leave off,” he cried pettishly. “I say it’s all very well for the old man to growl at me for fishing, but if I hadn’t gone catching dabs and a little conger or two, I should have been starved.”
She raised her face and kissed him. Some one else was suffering, and her woman’s instinct to help was beginning to work.
“What do you think I did, Sis? Oh, you don’t know. I’d been up to Burnett’s to see May, but the beggars had sneaked off and gone to London. Just like Franky Sneerums and wax-doll May. Pretty sort of a sister to keep away when we’re in trouble.”
“Oh, don’t, my dear boy,” whispered Claire in a choking voice.
“Oh, yes, I shall. They’re ashamed of me and of all of us. Just as if we could help the old girl being killed here.”
A horrible spasm ran through Claire.
“Don’t jump like that, stupid,” said Morton roughly. “You didn’t kill her.”
“Hush! hush!”
“No, I shan’t hush. It’ll do you good to talk and hear what people say, my pretty old darling Sis. There, there hush-a-bye, baby. Cuddle up close, and let’s comfort you. What’s the matter now?”