"Did you ever hear her speak of a lady called Meta?" inquired Elsie, in a voice that slightly trembled.
"Meta? No; I've never heard the name. Who was she? An actress, I suppose?"
"Oh, no!" replied Elsie hastily. "She was some one who lived with Mrs. Penn."
"Ah, there was a young lady who occupied one room at the top of the house, and did pictures for the papers and cheap magazines. I never saw her, but Mrs. Penn spoke of her once or twice, and seemed mightily concerned when she died."
"Then Mrs. Penn spoke to you of her death?" Elsie said breathlessly.
"Yes; she was a weak-minded woman, Mrs. Penn was, and allowed herself to be upset by trifles. She said that Miss Somebody was dead—I never could remember names; the name don't matter—and she had called to ask if I wanted any furniture. I said I'd take a couple of small tables and an arm-chair if she'd let me have 'em cheap. I knew she'd got some good, substantial old things."
"And had this furniture been in the young lady's room?" asked Elsie.
"Some of it had, I suppose. She told me that she didn't mean to let the room again; she was going to sleep in it herself," she said, "because it was large and light."
There was a brief pause. The clatter of teacups in the kitchen warned Elsie that she had trespassed on the old woman's patience long enough. A tabby cat, which had been asleep by the fire, got up, stretched itself, and came purring round its mistress's chair.
"Pussy knows it's tea-time," said Mrs. Tryon, bending down to stroke the creature.