Midmore jump—'didn't you know that I was 'is first? That's what makes it so hard to bear.' Midmore looked at the long lizard-like back and had no words.
She went on, still talking through the black window-pane:
'Your pore dear auntie was very kind about it. She said she'd make all allowances for one, but no more. Never any more. . . . Then, you didn't know 'oo Charlie was all this time?'
'Your nephew, I always thought.'
'Well, well,' she spoke pityingly. 'Everybody's business being nobody's business, I suppose no one thought to tell you. But Charlie made 'is own way for 'imself from the beginnin'! . . . But her upstairs, she never produced anything. Just an 'ousekeeper, as you might say. 'Turned over an' went to sleep straight off. She 'ad the impudence to ask me for 'ot sherry-gruel.'
'Did you give it to her,' said Midmore.
'Me? Your sherry? No!'
The memory of Sidney's outrageous rhyme at the window, and Charlie's long nose (he thought it looked interested at the time) as he passed the copies of Mrs. Werfs last four wills, overcame Midmore without warning.
'This damp is givin' you a cold,' said Rhoda, rising. 'There you go again! Sneezin's a sure sign of it. Better go to bed. You can't do anythin' excep''—she stood rigid, with crossed arms—'about me.'
'Well. What about you?' Midmore stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket.
