“Yes, ma’am.”
“This is like home.”
“I’m glad, ma’am, I’m glad—”
Catherine kissed her. They were both good women, and heart met heart in that home-coming, so full of memories of mingled joy and pain.
“It is good to see you here, Mary,” and Murchison held out a hand.
“Oh, sir, it was good to come.”
“You will only have one to worry you now.”
“It wasn’t a worry, sir.”
And she retreated because her weakness was a woman’s weakness and showed itself in tears.
A man was helping the cabman with the luggage. He came in carrying one end of a heavy trunk, cap in hand, gaiters on legs, a smart figure that seemed a little faded and out of fortune, to judge by the threadbare cleanliness of its clothes.