All too willingly Netty changed her seat, and presently she and the kind lady entered into a vigorous conversation. Netty confessed how anxious she was about the baby. She tapped the bottle in her pocket and described how she had made the necessary food with milk and water and a pinch of sugar.
"Dan will be fretting for his lunch by now," she said; "I do wish I could get hold of him."
"We shall be stopping at a big station in two or three minutes now," said the lady, whose name was Mrs. Holmes, "and I will get out and find Miss Pryce, who, I think from your description, must be the lady who has charge of the little one. I will bring him back to you then. But what a very audacious little girl you are to think that a baby would be allowed to come to the Sunday treat."
"I could not have come without him," replied Netty.
"What is your name?" asked Mrs. Holmes.
Poor Netty was on the point of saying Netty Floss, but at that moment she caught Ben's eye and his warning glance saved her from making a startling revelation.
"Susy Minchin," she answered.
"Minchin! I know the Minchins well. How is your Mother? I have not seen her for some time."
"Very well, indeed," answered Netty, flushing brightly. Her heart beat with a sudden feeling of alarm. This was quite terrible news. The kind lady knew her supposed Mother, Mrs. Minchin. Netty had not the faintest idea what Mrs. Minchin was like; she did not know how many there were in family, but a dreadful memory now darted through her brain—the curate had said that he did not believe that the Minchins had a young baby.
Suppose this lady who knew Mrs. Minchin so well should remember that fact, then what should she do?