“And what would you be doing that for at all? I’ll be wetting my own tea when I do go down, and I’ll do yours at the same time and send it up by Polly.”
Mrs. O’Grady was about to withdraw when she waxed enthusiastic.
“The baby, he’s a dote!” she exclaimed, “a dote, and exactly like his father, and there are two beautiful boys away at school, real dotes. There’s a photo of them on the mantelpiece. My legs are run off me this minute what with the mistress upstairs and Mrs. Fitzgerald downstairs, and it’s extra she’s after charging for the flat; but it’s no extra she’s after giving me.”
“Well, I hope they’ll be all right.”
“Indeed, mum, and I don’t like it, not at all, at all. Only the other morning, when the luggage was outside the door, three men passed and looked down into the area, and Polly says they were Black-and-Tans in civies.”
“Rubbish, Mrs. O’Grady, they couldn’t know already.”
“Couldn’t they?” She tossed her head. “Couldn’t they?” she repeated darkly. “There’s trouble coming to this house, and don’t you forget it.”
She gave a sniff and departed.