“Will you give her this?” Amelius asked.
He took from his pocket a little photograph of the cottage, which he had noticed on the house-agent’s desk, and had taken away with him. “It is my cottage now,” he explained, in tones that faltered a little; “I am going to live there; Sally might like to see it.”
“Sally shall see it,” Mrs. Payson agreed—“if you will only let me take this away first.” She pointed to the address of the cottage, printed under the photograph. Past experience in the Home made her reluctant to trust Sally with the address in London at which Amelius was to be found.
Rufus produced a huge complex knife, out of the depths of which a pair of scissors burst on touching a spring. Mrs. Payson cut off the address, and placed the photograph in her pocket-book. “Now,” she said, “Sally will be happy, and no harm can come of it.”
“I’ve known you, ma’am, nigh on twenty years,” Rufus remarked. “I do assure you that’s the first rash observation I ever heard from your lips.”