"Well, do you love her, or not?"
"Really, Mrs. McTeague, I–I—you must excuse me. It's a matter so personal — so — I — Oh, yes, I love her. Oh, yes, indeed," he exclaimed, suddenly.
"Well, then, she loves you. She told me so."
"Oh!"
"She did. She said those very words."
Miss Baker had said nothing of the kind — would have died sooner than have made such a confession; but Trina had drawn her own conclusions, like every other lodger of the flat, and thought the time was come for decided action.
"Now you do just as I tell you, and when she comes home, go right in and see her, and have it over with. Now, don't say another word. I'm going; but you do just as I tell you."
Trina turned about and went down-stairs. She had decided, since Miss Baker was not at home, that she would run over and see Maria; possibly she could have lunch there. At any rate, Maria would offer her a cup of tea.
Old Grannis stood for a long time just as Trina had left him, his hands trembling, the blood coming and going in his withered cheeks.
"She said, she — she — she told her — she said that — that—" he could get no farther.