"Mrs. Carpenter did not seem to me inclined to charge fault upon anybody.
I never heard anything from her that shewed a censorious spirit."
Mrs. Busby opened her lips, and pressed them a little closer together.
Evidently she was minded to ask no more questions. Mr. Digby went on.
"Mrs. Carpenter had a daughter—"
"I know she had a daughter," Mrs. Busby said briskly. "Is she living?"
"Certainly."
"Pray, how old?"
"About—I believe, about fifteen."
"Where is she?"
"She is here."
"Here! In whose care? and where is she?"