Constance made a slight gesture of impatience; she had been thinking of Sybil Lamotte, to the exclusion of all other subjects, and this message brought her suddenly back to her own affairs.
"Important!" she muttered to herself. "Then it must be—the other one. Nelly," raising her voice, "what is this man like?"
"Like, miss?" inquiringly.
"Yes. How does he look?"
"Oh! Well, it's very ugly he looks, to my notion."
"Does he look like a gentleman, Nelly?"
"Oh, murther! no."
"Like a tramp, then?"
"No; his clothes is too new."
"Well, Nelly, I will go and see him," said Constance, beginning to despair of finding out whether this visitor were the tramp of the night previous, or the new actor expected on the scene. "You know I never allow you to turn a tramp away hungry, and if one comes who seems worthy of help, I wish you always to let me know it."