"You think I may come in?" he asked eagerly.
"We shall consult Mrs. Wade."
Susan received them with a great unbolting and unlocking of the door.
She apologized for her slowness.
"It isn't that lonesome now Mrs. Wade's come," she said. "Yet I've had a fear on me this while back. Maybe it's the poor child upstairs and her thinkin' somethink's after her. It fair gave me the creeps to hear her. She's stopped that since Mrs. Wade's come back. She takes her for her Ma. Now she's got her she doesn't seem scared any more."
Susan had curtseyed to Terry.
"I've that poor old soul, Miss Brennan, a-sittin' in my kitching, as warm as warm," she went on. "Didn't you know, m'lady? 'Twas 'er as went to look for Mrs. Wade. How she knew as Mrs. Wade would content a child callin' for 'er Ma, passes me."
"Oh, I am glad you have poor Lizzie. I never liked to think of her alone in that wretched place. Yet when we talked of her leaving it she always seemed so afraid her liberty would be interfered with. She is really too old to be running all over the country as she does, coming back cold and wet to that wretched place, where she might die any night all alone."
"She do seem to have taken a fancy to me," Mrs. Horridge said placidly.
"I might take her for a lodger, maybe. Georgie's not one to annoy an
old lady like some boys might. I'd love humourin' her little fancies;
I could always do anythink for an old person or a child."
"I am going up to see Miss Stella," Lady O'Gara said. "Do you think
Mr. Terry may wait by the fire? I shall tell Mrs. Wade."
"He'll be as welcome as the flowers in May, as the sayin' is," Mrs. Horridge said, briskly pushing a chair for Terry nearer the fire and lamplight. "An' plenty o' books to amuse you, sir, while your Ma's upstairs."