“Certainly, Nan dear; I am always glad that you should see your mother’s dear old friend.”
So after early dinner, Nan, dressed in her pretty and neat mourning, started off, accompanied by Susan, to visit Mr. Pryor. She had not ventured to the house where her mother had died before, for on the last occasion of their meeting Mr. Pryor had come to see her. The door was opened by Phoebe, who, in her delight at seeing Nan, forgot all decorum, and shocked Susan almost out of her wits by flinging her arms round the little girl’s neck and hugging her tightly.
“Oh, Miss Nan! it is good to see you; and my missus, Mrs. Vincent, will be that pleased! You will come down, miss, and have a cup of tea with my mistress before you go back, won’t you? Oh! it is elegant you look. What a pretty frock, miss! It ain’t cut by our pattern, be it, miss?”
“No,” said Nan. “Please, Phoebe, can I see Mr. Pryor?”
“It is delighted he will be to see you, darling. I’ll just run up and ask him. Won’t you come into the parlour, dear? The parlour lodgers has gone, and there is no one there at present. Wait a minute, love, while I inquire whether Mr. Pryor is in. Oh! of course he must be; but I’ll go and find out.”
Nan and Susan went into the parlour, and presently Phoebe rushed downstairs.
“Mr. Pryor says you are to go up this very minute, miss. And he has ordered tea for two, and muffins and cream. And perhaps this young person would come to the kitchen.”
Poor Phoebe glanced with admiring eyes at Susan. Susan’s manners were staid and of a rebuking character. She did not think Phoebe at all the sort of girl she would care to associate with; but as Nan said in a careless tone, “Yes, Susan, go downstairs,” and then ran by herself to the drawing-room floor, there was nothing for it but to obey.
“What an elegant young lady Miss Nan has grown,” said Phoebe. “Come downstairs, won’t you, miss? My mistress will make you right welcome.”
So Susan had to make the best of it, and tripped down, accompanied by Phoebe.