d its owner.

Then old Maisie was fully aware of her Guardian Angel, back again--no
dream, like those shrimps! And her voice was saying:--"So you had
company, Mrs. Picture dear. Lutwyche told me. The widow-woman from
Chorlton, wasn't it? How did you find her? Nice?"

Yes, the widow-woman was very nice. She had stayed quite a long time,
and had tea. "I liked her very much," said old Maisie. "She was easy."
Then--said inference--somebody is difficult. Maisie did not catch this
remark, made by one of the most inaudible of speakers. "Yes," she said,
"she stayed quite a long time, and had tea. She is a very good young
woman"--for, naturally, eighty sees fifty-odd as youth, especially when
fifty-odd seems ten years less--"and we could talk about Dave. It was
like being home again." She used, without a trace of _arriere pensee_, a
phrase she could not have bettered had she tried to convey to Gwen her
distress at hearing she was a plaguy old cat. Then she suddenly saw its
possible import, and would have liked to withdraw it. "Only I would not
seek to be home again, my dear, when I am near you." She trembled in her
eagerness to get this said, and not to say it wrong.

Gwen saw in an instant all she had overlooked, and indeed she _had_
overlooked many things. It was, however, much too late at night to go
into the subject. She could only soothe it away now, but with intention
to amend matters next day; or, rather, next daylight. So she said:--"The
plaster will very soon be dry now in Sapps Court, dear Mrs. Picture, and
then you shall go back to Dave and Dolly, and I will come and see you
there. You must go to bed now. So must I--I suppose? I will come to you
to-morrow morning, and you will tell me a great deal more. Now
good-night!" That was what she said aloud. To herself she thought a
thought without words, that could only have been rendered, to do it
justice:--"The Devil fly away with Mrs. Masham, that she couldn't
contrive to make this dear old soul comfortable for a few weeks, just
long enough for some plaster to dry." She went near adding:--"And
myself, too, not to have foreseen what would happen!" But she bit this
into her underlip, and cancelled it.

She rang the bell for Lutwyche, now the sole survivor in the kitchen
region. Who appeared, bearing hot water--some for the plaguy old cat.
Gwen said good-night again, kissing the old lady affectionately when
Lutwyche was not looking. Mistress and maid then, when the cat at