‘Could we see Miss Potterson?’ asked the
old man, uncovering his head.
‘You not only could, but you can and you do,’
replied the hostess.
‘Might we speak with you, madam?’
By this time Miss Abbey’s eyes had possessed
themselves of the small figure of Miss Jenny Wren.
For the closer observation of which, Miss Abbey laid
aside her newspaper, rose, and looked over the half-door
of the bar. The crutch-stick seemed to entreat
for its owner leave to come in and rest by the fire;
so, Miss Abbey opened the half-door, and said, as
though replying to the crutch-stick:
‘Yes, come in and rest by the fire.’
‘My name is Riah,’ said the old man, with
courteous action, ’and my avocation is in London
city. This, my young companion—’
‘Stop a bit,’ interposed Miss Wren.
‘I’ll give the lady my card.’
She produced it from her pocket with an air, after
struggling with the gigantic door-key which had got
upon the top of it and kept it down. Miss Abbey,
with manifest tokens of astonishment, took the diminutive
document, and found it to run concisely thus:—
Dolls’ dressmaker.
Dolls attended at their own residences.
‘Lud!’ exclaimed Miss Potterson, staring.
And dropped the card.
‘We take the liberty of coming, my young companion
and I, madam,’ said Riah, ‘on behalf of
Lizzie Hexam.’
Miss Potterson was stooping to loosen the bonnet-strings
of the dolls’ dressmaker. She looked round
rather angrily, and said: ’Lizzie Hexam
is a very proud young woman.’
‘She would be so proud,’ returned Riah,
dexterously, ’to stand well in your good opinion,
that before she quitted London for—’
‘For where, in the name of the Cape of Good
Hope?’ asked Miss Potterson, as though supposing
her to have emigrated.
‘For the country,’ was the cautious answer,—’she
made us promise to come and show you a paper, which
she left in our hands for that special purpose.
I am an unserviceable friend of hers, who began to
know her after her departure from this neighbourhood.
She has been for some time living with my young companion,
and has been a helpful and a comfortable friend to
her. Much needed, madam,’ he added, in a
lower voice. ’Believe me; if you knew all,
much needed.’
‘I can believe that,’ said Miss Abbey,
with a softening glance at the little creature.
’And if it’s proud to have a heart that
never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and
a touch that never hurts,’ Miss Jenny struck
in, flushed, ‘she is proud. And if it’s
not, she is not.’
Her set purpose of contradicting Miss Abbey point
blank, was so far from offending that dread authority,
as to elicit a gracious smile. ’You do
right, child,’ said Miss Abbey, ’to speak
well of those who deserve well of you.’
‘Right or wrong,’ muttered Miss Wren,
inaudibly, with a visible hitch of her chin, ’I
mean to do it, and you may make up your mind to that,
old lady.’
