It was evident that he had come in only a minute before her, for he had not yet entered upon his business. He began upon it now. Edina silently took off her things as she listened, put them on the side-table, and made the tea. There he sat, talking methodically, and appearing to notice nothing, but in reality seeing everything: the shabby room, the scanty attire of the young children, the faded appearance of Mrs. Raynor, as she sat putting fresh cuffs on a jacket of Alfred's. Edina began to pour out the tea, and brought him a cup, handing him the sugar and milk.
"Is it cream?" asked Mr. Street. "I can't take cream."
"It is skim-milk," said Edina. "But it is good: not at all watered. We buy it at a small farmhouse."
He had come to ask Mrs. Raynor whether she remembered a small ebony desk that had been at Eagles' Nest. It had belonged to the late Mrs. Atkinson, he observed: "she kept papers in it: receipts and things of that sort."
"I remember it quite well," replied Mrs. Raynor. "My husband took it into use, and kept papers of his own in it. He used to put all the bills there."
"Do you know what became of the desk, madam?"
"It was left in the house," said Mrs. Raynor.
"Ay: we supposed it would be," nodded the banker. "But, madam, it cannot be found. I was at Eagles' Nest myself all day yesterday, searching for it. Mr. Fairfax says he does not remember to have seen it."
The name struck unfamiliarly on Mrs. Raynor's ear. "Mr. Fairfax? Who is he?"
"The land-steward, who lives in the house. He thinks that had the desk been there when he entered into possession, he should have noticed it."