"I'll just carry the tray down to Mrs. Brigg," she said, and she clattered out with it, and down the stairs.
Julian heard her loudly humming a music-hall song as she went, the requiem of her dead life with the old woman who held the Bible on her knees. When she returned, her mouth was hard and her eyes were shining ominously. Julian was still standing by the mantelpiece. As she came in he pointed to the photograph of Marr.
"And this?" he asked. "Who's this?"
The lady burst into a shrill laugh of mingled fear and cunning.
"That's the old gentleman!"
"What do you mean?"
"What I say,—the old gentleman, Nick, the devil, if you like it."
"Now you are trying to take a rise out of me."
"Not I, dear," she said. "That's the devil, sure enough."
Either the tea and toast had rendered her exuberant, or the thought of the old woman who believed her to be dead had driven her into recklessness. She continued: