“‘Not at all, mum,’ I says, ‘for after going and nursing a single man as is dying for aught I know, I shan’t be fit company for the folks in this house. I’m going now directly, mum, and I shall leave my box and send for it and my wages too.’”
Here Mary had another look at the patient and the cooking.
“I wasn’t long getting off, I can tell you, and glad enough I was to get away. I’d ha’ left long enough ago, only I didn’t want to make any more changes till the big one, and there was only one as I minded leaving.”
“And that was little Hetty,” I said, as I understood her big change to mean her marriage.
“Yes, my dear, you’re right—little Hetty; and she came and sobbed and cried ever so, with her dear arms round my neck, till I told her that perhaps I might see you, and asked her if I might take you her love; and she sent it to you, and said she always wore your brooch.”
“And is she quite well?” I said, with sparkling eyes.
“Yes, and grows the neatest, prettiest, best girl that ever was. And now, my dear, I’m come to nuss my pore William till he’s well, and then—”
“Yes, Mary?” for she had paused.
“I shall get a place somewhere in London; for I shan’t go back.”
Then, after another look at the patient, she came back to me.