“Yes, yes, I see,” said Miss Letty, bravely smiling. “My writing is not so good as it was,—I am getting old! Thank you for your trouble in coming,—and thank the manager, please! Tell him it is quite correct!”
She gave him back the cheque, and he accepted it with a bow.
“Sorry to have troubled you, madam, I am sure!”
“Not at all!” said Miss Letty. “Not at all! Good morning!”
“Good morning, madam!”
He left her, and she stood like a creature turned into stone.
“Boy! Oh, Boy!” The name escaped her lips in a half-whisper.
She looked around her—her eyes were dim,—and she was still troubled by a sickening giddiness. She moved to her chair, and laid one hand on the arm of it to steady herself.
“You should have died when you were a child, poor Boy!” she said still whisperingly—“Poor little Boy! You should have died when you were a child!”
Still she stood rigid and tearless, unconscious of all around her, her blue eyes fixed on vacancy. The door opened—she did not hear it. Violet Morrison, very fair to see in the neat grey gown and spotless white cap of her calling, entered—she did not notice her.