"Wasn't that the name of the gentleman Miss Eden married?"
"It seems to me you're making a mistake, madam. Excuse me, but might I ask your name?"
"I'm Mrs. Despard. Miss Eden lived with me as governess."
"Oh, yes"—the puce velvet seemed to soften—"very pleased to see you, I'm sure! Come inside, madam. Ellen's just run round to the fishmonger's. I'm not enjoying very good health just now"—the glance was intolerably confidential—"and I thought I could fancy a bit of filleted plaice for my supper, or a nice whiting. Come inside, do!"
Mrs. Despard, stunned, could think of no course save that suggested. She followed Mrs. Eden into the impossible parlour that bounded the shop on the north.
"Do sit down," said Mrs. Eden hospitably, "and the girl shall get you a cup of tea. It's full early, but a cup of tea's always welcome, early or late, isn't it?"
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Despard, automatically. Then she roused herself and added, "But please
