Old Cranston's face brightened.
"She is very well, madam, I thank you," he replied. "And I am pleased to say that she is coming to stay with us shortly. We hope to keep her through the winter. Her stepmother is very kind, but with little children of her own, it is not always easy for her to give as much attention as she would like to Myra, and she and Mr. Raby have responded cordially to our invitation."
"I am very glad to hear it—very glad indeed," said mamma. "I know what a pleasure it will be to you and Mrs. Cranston. Let me see—how old is the little girl now—seven, eight?"
"Nine, madam, getting on for ten indeed," said Mr. Cranston with pride.
"Dear me," said mamma, "how time passes! I remember seeing her when she was a baby—before we came to live here, of course, once when I was staying at Fernley, just after——"
Mamma stopped and hesitated.
"Just after her poor mother died—yes, madam," said the old man quietly.
And then we left, Mr. Cranston respectfully holding the door open.
It was growing quite dark; the street-lamps were lighted and their gleam was reflected on the pavement, for it had been raining and was still quite wet underfoot. Mamma looked round her.