“Come in,” said Hattie, in a clear, distinct tone.
Hattie was sitting on her bed; her only chair was between her and the door, near the table, and when Miss Scrimp took the seat Hattie pointed to, the lamp-light from both her lamp and Hattie’s on the table, fell strong on her angular, ugly face.
“I got your note, and came up quick as I could, dear,” said Miss Scrimp, the moment she could gather breath enough to speak.
For the long, steep stairs tired her very severely.
“I suppose you’ve made up your mind to change your room and something better, now you’re making ever so much money—eh, dear?” continued Miss Scrimp.
“No, my business with you is of more importance than a change of rooms. It may cause a change of residence for you, Miss Scrimp.”
“For me?” cried the ancient maiden, turning whiter than the pillow-case on which Hattie rested her hand. “I can’t understand you, dear.”
“I will try to make my meaning quite plain before this interview is over, Miss Scrimp. Did the postman leave a letter here for me to-day?”
“The postman!” fairly gasped Miss Scrimp, her eyes a pale green, her face ghastly in its hue. “I haven’t seen the postman to-day!”
“No matter whether you saw him or not. I ask a plain question in plain words. Did the postman leave a letter here for me to-day?”