“Why, I was just thinkin’ how annoyed you’d be if I was to ask you to give me the part that concerns—that concerns my Bobbie.”
Far from showing annoyance, Mrs. West cheerfully ordered the production of scissors; ’Tilderann being called, responded so promptly that suspicious persons might have guessed she had become tired of serving imaginary customers, and had been trying to listen at the doorway. Having brought the scissors, ’Tilderann was sent back again to look after the shop. Then the two women bent their heads near to each other, and dividing the letter carefully, judiciously, and very lovingly, the shares were allotted.
“My dear,” said Mrs. West rising, “come and see me at the address on this envelope to-morrow evening, and let us talk it all over quietly. Come to dinner.”
“Me?” asked the astonished girl. “Me at dinner in Kensington?”
“I insist upon it.”
“I’m a good talker,” stammered Miss Bell, “in—in an ord’nary way, but just now—I only wish my friend Miss Threepenny was here.”
A call from ’Tilderann.
“But some day me and Bobbie will be able to tell you how much—” She bent her head to her friend’s hand impulsively. Young Mrs. West kissed her on the cheek.
“Lot of use anybody bawling ‘Shop,’” said ’Tilderann at the doorway ironically, “when no one don’t take no notice. Why, you’re crying! Whatever’s the matter, Miss?”
“Matter?” repeated Miss Beatrice Bell with indignation. “Do you think I should cry if there was anything really the matter?”