He finished his sentence with a wink.
“Never you mind what I thought,” said Barney. “What d’ yer want here?”
“Only to know if Mrs Lane lives here.”
“Yes, she do,” cried the woman, spitefully; “and why couldn’t you ring the side bell, and not come bothering us?”
“Because I wanted some tobacco, mum,” said the cabman, quietly.
“Oh!” said the woman, in a loud voice; “with their cabs, indeed, a-comin’ every day: there’ll be kerridges next!”
“Just you come and go on with your job,” said Barney, with a snarl.
“I’m coming!” said the woman, sharply. Then to the cabman—“You can go this way;” and she flung open a side door and called up the stairs—“Here, Mrs Lane, another cab’s come for you. There, I s’pose you can go up,” she added; and then, in a voice loud enough to be heard upstairs, “if people would only pay their way instead of riding in cabs, it would be better for some of us.”
A door had been heard to open on the first floor, and then, as the vinegary remark of Mrs Sturt rose, voices were heard whispering. The cabman went straight up the uncarpeted stairs, to pause before the half-open door, as he heard, in a low conversation, the words—
“Mamma—dear mamma, pray don’t notice it.”