"Been with you some time that woman?" said Mr. Brassy.

"Yes," said Maggie, "about five years, I think."

"Hum! Hum--name of Harmer."

"Yes. Harmer."

"Not married?"

"No," answered Maggie, wondering at this interest.

"Not so far as you know."

"No. She's always Miss Harmer."

"Quite so--quite so. Dear me, yes."

Other people appeared, asked questions and vanished. It seemed to
have been all taken out of her hands and it was strange how desolate
this made her. For so many years she had had the management of that
house, since her fourteenth birthday, indeed. Ugly and dilapidated
though the place had been, it had grown, after a time, to belong to
her, and she had felt as though it were in some way grateful to her
for keeping it, poor thing, together. Now it had suddenly withdrawn
itself and was preparing for the next comer. Maggie felt this quite
definitely and thought that probably it was glad that now its roof
would be mended and its floors made whole. It had thrown her
off . . . Well, she would not burden it long.