‘Mrs. Mumford,’ said the girl, ’this is my mother.  Mother, this is Mrs. Mumford.  And now, please, let me go somewhere while you have your talk.’

‘Yes, that’ll be best, that’ll be best,’ exclaimed Mrs. Higgins.  ’Dear, ’ow ’ot it is!  Run out into the garden, Louise.  Nice little ’ouse, Mrs. Mumford.  And Louise seems quite taken with you.  She doesn’t take to people very easy, either.  Of course, you can give satisfactory references?  I like to do things in a business-like way.  I understand your ’usband is in the City; shouldn’t wonder if he knows some of Mr.  ’Iggins’s friends.  Yes, I will take a cup, if you please.  I’ve just had one at the station, but it’s such thirsty weather.  And what do you think of Louise?  Because I’d very much rather you said plainly if you don’t think you could get on.’

‘But, indeed, I fancy we could, Mrs. Higgins.’

’Well, I’m sure I’m very glad of it.  It isn’t everybody can get on with Louise.  I dessay she’s told you a good deal about me and her stepfather.  I don’t think she’s any reason to complain of the treatment—­’

‘She said you were both very kind to her,’ interposed the hostess.

’I’m sure we try to be, and Mr.  ’Iggins, he doesn’t mind what he gives her.  A five-pound note, if you’ll believe me, is no more than a sixpence to him when he gives her presents.  You see, Mrs. Rumford—­no, Mumford, isn’t it?—­I was first married very young—­scarcely eighteen, I was; and Mr. Derrick died on our wedding-day, two years after.  Then came Mr.  ’Iggins.  Of course I waited a proper time.  And one thing I can say, that no woman was ever ’appier with two ’usbands than I’ve been.  I’ve two sons growing up, hearty boys as ever you saw.  If it wasn’t for this trouble with Louise—­’ She stopped to wipe her face.  ’I dessay she’s told you that Mr.  ’Iggins, who was a widower when I met him, has a daughter of his first marriage—­her poor mother died at the birth, and she’s older than Louise.  I don’t mind telling you, Mrs. Mumford, she’s close upon six-and-twenty, and nothing like so good-looking as Louise, neither.  Mr.  ’Iggins, he’s kindness itself; but when it comes to differences between his daughter and my daughter, well, it isn’t in nature he shouldn’t favour his own.  There’s more be’ind, but I dessay you can guess, and I won’t trouble you with things that don’t concern you.  And that’s how it stands, you see.’

By a rapid calculation Emmeline discovered; with surprise, that Mrs. Higgins could not be much more than forty years of age.  It must have been a life of gross self-indulgence that had made the woman look at least ten years older.  This very undesirable parentage naturally affected Emmeline’s opinion of Louise, whose faults began to show in a more pronounced light.  One thing was clear:  but for the fact that Louise aimed at a separation from her relatives, it would be barely possible to think of receiving her.  If Mrs. Higgins thought of coming down to Sutton at unexpected moments—­no, that was too dreadful.