When she learned, as she speedily did, the great mystery about the houses and the Coppin property, she began to understand the letter, the contents of which she kept to herself for the present. This was perhaps wise, for the theory implied rather than stated in the letter, that both should be ordered to go, for if one only was turned out of work both would stay. This theory made her smile and blush, and pleased her, insomuch that she was not so angry as she might otherwise have been, and should have been, with the crafty double-dealer who wrote the letter.
It happened that Mr. Bunker had business on Stepney Green that morning, while Angela was reading the letter. She saw him from the window, and could not resist the temptation of inviting him to step in. He came, not in the least abashed, and with no tell-tale signal of confusion in his rosy cheeks.
"Come in, Mr. Bunker," said Angela. "Come in; I want five minutes' talk with you. This way, please, where we can be alone."
She led him into the refectory, because Daniel Fagg was in the drawing room.
"I have been thinking, Mr. Bunker," she said, "how very, very fortunate I was to fall into such hands as yours, when I came to Stepney."
"You were, miss, you were. That was a fall, as one may say, which meant a rise."
"I am sure it did, Mr. Bunker. You do not often come to see us, but I hope you approve of our plans."
"As for that," he replied, "it isn't my business. People come to me and I put them in the way. How they run in the way is not my business to inquire. As for you and your girls, now, if you make the concern go, you may thank me for it. If you don't, why, it isn't my fault."
"Very well put, indeed, Mr. Bunker. In six months the first year, for which I paid the rent, will come to an end."
"It will."