“‘That is likely enough,’ said the old lady. ‘For though the Hansons are poor now, they haven’t always lived in a neighbourhood like this, and some of their old friends come to see them yet.’
“‘Who are the Hansons?’ I asked. ‘Do you know anything about them?’
“‘Nothing,’ I was told ‘except that they became poor when their father died. They are two very pretty young ladies, and I don’t mix much with the people hereabouts, though they have always a pleasant word for me. I’m not surprised that Mr Gilbertson is smitten, and that he comes to see them nearly every evening. I rather fancy that he is engaged to Miss Beatrice.’
“You see, Iris, it seems rather a cruel thing to tell you. But I know how you dread fortune-hunters, and I know also that you would be miserable with a man whose heart was given to another. It is much better to stop the mischief before it has become irrevocable.”
Miss Rankin fully endorsed the opinion thus expressed, although it was a bitter experience for her to be told that the man to whom she had in all confidence given her heart was merely courting her fortune, while his love was bestowed elsewhere.
Still, she never doubted the honesty of purpose of her friend, but was wise enough to subject her to a series of searching questions ere she was fully convinced that there was apparently a mistake. Even then she determined to have additional testimony before she decided upon condemning and humiliating the man to whom she was to have been married in one short month.
He was very handsome and very clever. But his income had hitherto not kept pace with his apparent popularity as a journalist, and his profession afforded him an easy excuse for spending his evenings away from his fiancée.
“I imagined him always to be hard at work every evening,” she said sadly, when consulting me. “But if my friend has really made no mistake, Mr Gilbertson has been spending his evenings in more congenial fashion than in working at his profession, or in visiting me. I cannot condescend to pursue further investigations myself. But it will not be a very difficult matter for you. You will lose no time over the business?”
“None whatever,” was my prompt assurance. And I kept my word, for that very afternoon saw me, very soberly attired and wearing my most philanthropic expression, wending my way towards the very quiet bye-street in which Mrs Tweedy lived. I was armed with all sorts of particulars, and was made aware of Mrs Tweedy’s particular foible. She only needed to scent a possible donation to become the most servile and plausible of individuals. She had always been poor, but not of the poorest, for she contrived to divert a great many gifts from indiscriminate philanthropists to herself that ought really to have been bestowed elsewhere. As I carried a neat parcel of groceries by way of make-weight to the bundle of tracts I was supposed to be distributing, I felt pretty sure of my position, and was soon chatting quite affably with the cunning old lady.
I was diplomatic enough to pave the way for the tract I had to offer by the gift of a quarter of tea and a tin of salmon, after which I might have learnt all there was to tell of the whole neighbourhood if I had wanted. We were soon chatting quite sociably together, and it was of course quite natural that, next to herself, the old lady should find her neighbours her readiest medium of gossip. As the sisters Hanson were the most interesting of these neighbours, it was equally natural that the conversation should be easily brought round to them.