Mrs. Myrtle looked at Annie as if she were now quite sure that the poor pretty young lady was not quite right in her head. She did not speak at all, but waited for Annie to continue.
"You're a female pawnbroker, are you not?" said Annie.
"A female what, my dear?" said Mrs. Myrtle, her face growing crimson. This was really the last straw. "I don't understand you, miss," she said in a stiff tone. "I have nothing whatever to do with the trade you indicate."
Just then some ladies, very good customers, entered the shop.
"You'll excuse me for a moment, miss," said Mrs. Myrtle; "but if you don't want to buy, I shall be obliged to leave you to attend to my customers. Good morning, Lady Dalgetty; what can I show your ladyship?"
Poor Annie found herself pushed into a corner. Lady Dalgetty and her suite occupied all Mrs. Myrtle's attention. Even the humble-looking Netty was busy serving out spools of cotton, needles, and pins to a prim-looking lady. Neither of the women in the shop had a moment to attend to Annie's sore need.
She began to think that Mrs. Myrtle was not so kind as she looked, and to understand a little of nurse's repugnance to the pawnbroker class.
"They must be low people," she murmured to herself; "for this woman won't even own to the fact that she is a pawnbroker."
The shop became empty once more; and Mrs. Myrtle, who was really quite as kind hearted as she looked, raised her eyes, and encountered a very forlorn glance from Annie.
"Poor, pretty young lady," she said to herself. "She's gone in the head without any manner of doubt, calling me aunt, and asking me if I'm a female pawnbroker; but I'd best humour her a bit, and try to find out who she belongs to."