“You have read the evening paper I see.”
“I’ve got it certainly, ma’am,” replied the agitated young woman, “but as to reading it, why my eyes get so full the moment I begin that I can’t get on with it very fast.”
“I have a letter from my dear husband,” said Mrs. Myddleton West proudly, “from my dear husband giving fuller particulars.”
“And you’ve come straight here?”
’Tilderann returning, flushed with victory because she had compounded with the cabman for two shillings and two pence, and therefore able to refund the sum of fourpence, was commanded to look after the shop, and Miss Bell conducted her visitor into the small room at the back. ’Tilderann, noting with regret that the door closed carefully, found compensation in serving across the counter imaginary bonnets to imaginary wives of society millionaires at the price of fifty guineas per bonnet.
“Is this Robert Lancaster?” asked Mrs. West in her pleasant way. She took up a photograph of a brown-faced sailor lad, clean shaven, with a humorous mouth and bare neck.
“That’s my Bobbie,” said Beatrice Bell with pride. “Won’t you take the easy chair, ma’am? It’s been quite a lovely summer, hasn’t it? I suppose we shall soon have autumn upon us if we’re not careful, and—Oh,” she cried, interrupting herself. “What is the use of me pretending to be calm when I’m all of a tremble!”
“Now you must sit down,” this with a kindly authoritativeness, “sit down here close to me, and I am going to read to you the letter from my husband, which arrived only this evening.”
“From Delar?” asked the girl, seating herself obediently on a hassock.
“From Delar.”