“I saw your father, Nanny,” he said, in as significant and dry a tone as possible.
“Did you, sir?” said she; and he remarked that while uttering the words, she again colored deeply and did not raise her eyes to his face.
“Yes,” he replied; “but he did not bear out what you said—he had no pair of shoes in his bag.”
“Did you see what he had in it, Master Hycy?”
“Why,” said he, “a—hem—a—a—I didn't look—but I'll tell you what, Nanny, I think you look as if you were in possession of some secret. I say so, and don't imagine you can for a moment impose upon me. I know what your father had in his bag.”
“Well then, if you do, sir,” she replied, “you know the saycrit.”
“So there is a secret, then?”
“So you say, Masther Hycy.”
“Nanny,” he proceeded, “it occurs to me now that you never underwent a formal examination about this robbery that took place in our house.”
“That wasn't my fault,” she replied; “I mostly happened to be out.”