"I thought you'd gone and picked up a lost child out of the streets," said Charlotte, with a sigh of relief.
"No, no; she's my own," he answered. "You hearken while I read poor Susan's letters, and then you'll understand all about it. I couldn't give her up for a hundred gold guineas—not for a deal more than that."
He knew Susan's letters off by heart, and did not need his spectacles, nor a good light to read them by. Charlotte listened with emphatic nods, and many exclamations of astonishment.
"That's very pretty of Susan," she remarked, "saying as Aunt Charlotte'll do her sewing, and see to her manners. Ay, that I will! for who should know manners better than me, who used to work for the Staniers, and dine at the housekeeper's table, with the butler and all the head servants? to be sure I'll take care that she does not grow up ungenteel. Where is the dear child, brother James?"
"She's gone out for a walk this fine morning," he answered.
"Not alone?" cried Charlotte. "Who's gone out with her? A child under five years old could never go out all alone in London: at least I should think not. She might get run over and killed a score of times."
"Oh! there's a person with her I've every confidence in," replied Oliver.
"What sort of person; man or woman; male or female?" inquired Charlotte.
"A boy," he answered, in some confusion.
"A boy!" repeated his sister, as if he had said a monster. "What boy?"