"Yes, yes," he said, "I know all about the engagement, but she came back. She came back the day before yesterday, didn't she?"
"Mais non, monsieur." She shook her head. "She is not come back."
"Damn," he faltered. "Er—but there was a letter sent here for her—it must have been delivered yesterday morning. What has become of the letter?"
"Ah, letters?" She banged an iron about a shirt with double cuffs; perturbed as he was, he shuddered to see the havoc she was wreaking.
"Mees Lascelles 'as writ me a post carte—she ask if 'er letters come, I send 'em on. I zink she gives up ze théâtre, I zink she takes a situation wiz a lady of title. Julie!" she called; "zat letter zat come yesterday for Mees Lascelles, it go to ze post, hein?"
"J'-n'-sais-pas!" called Julie. She sent a button flying off a waistcoat without turning a hair.
"Ameliarran?"
"Yes'm?"
"Ze letter for Mees Lascelles, where ees it?"
"There yer are!" replied "Ameliar Ann." She was sewing a red cotton hieroglyphic into a customer's "tying bow"—near one of the ends. Her nod indicated a shelf piled with packages, and Conrad perceived his letter lying neglected among the washing.