"We knew her," he repeated, "while she lived. Her story was a sad one. I thought you were related to her because you are like her."
"Like her?" Elsie echoed. "I must have grown like her through thinking about her so much! But I never saw her in my life."
The man still looked at her, with a glance kind as well as penetrating. "I daresay my mother will be ready to have a chat with you," he said, after a moment's pause. "Excuse me; I will go and speak to her again."
She waited, looking out through the doorway, and feeling that she was nearer the goal than she had ever been before. A strange joy and excitement thrilled her as she heard the shopkeeper returning.
"My mother will be glad to see you, madam," he said.
As he spoke she caught the gleam of firelight in a room at the back of the shop. It was a neat little parlour in which the old lady sat, and she rose to receive her visitor with quiet courtesy. Elsie sat down in an arm-chair, close to the window overlooking a little back-yard, and Mrs. Beaton attentively studied her face as she spoke.
"My son tells me that you want to ask some questions about Mrs. Penn and Miss Neale."
Elsie started slightly.
"Miss Neale?" she repeated. "Ah, that must be Meta."
"Did you not know her as Miss Neale?" the old lady asked.