“I learned it at the house in Twelfth Street.”
“Then you called there?”
“Yes, sir; I called to see you. I found it hard to get along on my salary, and I did not want Mrs. Forbush to lose by me, so I——”
“Mrs. Forbush?” repeated the old gentleman quickly. “That name sounds familiar to me.”
“Mrs. Forbush is your niece,” said Phil, a hope rising in his heart that he might be able to do his kind landlady a good turn.
“Did she tell you that?”
“No, sir; that is, I was ignorant of it until I met her just as I was going away from Mrs. Pitkin's.”
“Did she call there, too—to see me?” asked the old gentleman.
“Yes, sir; but she got a very cold reception. Mrs. Pitkin was very rude to her, and said that you were so much prejudiced against her that she had better not call again.”
“That's like her cold selfishness. I understand her motives very well. I had no idea that Mrs. Forbush was in the city. Is she—poor?”