"I've let the back-parlour," remarked Mrs. Jones; "so if there's any of your pieces in the room, the sooner you fetch them out the better. Brown, the managing clerk to Mr. Bede Greatorex, has taken it."
"Who?" cried Alletha, springing out of her seat.
"It's a good thing there's no nerves in this house; you'd startle them," snapped Mrs. Jones. "What ails you tonight?"
Alletha Rye turned her back, apparently searching for something in the sideboard drawer. Her face was growing paler, if possible, than before; her fingers shook; the terror in her eyes was all too conspicuous. She was silently striving for composure, and hiding herself while she did so. When it had in a degree come she faced Mrs. Jones again, who was knitting furiously, and spoke in a quiet tone.
"Who did you say had taken the room, Julia? Mr. Brown? Why should he take it?"
"You can go and ask him why."
"I would not let it to him," said Alletha, earnestly. "Don't; pray don't."
Down went the knitting with a fling. "Now just you explain yourself, Alletha Rye. What has the man done to you, that you should put in your word against his coming in?"
"Nothing."
"Oh! Then why should he not come pray? His worst enemy can't say he's not respectable--after being for years confidential clerk to Greatorex and Greatorex. Do you hear?--what have you to urge against his coming?"