"Exactly,--and ever since too, I believe," said Mr. Prendergast,
with a lawyer's instinctive desire to divert suspicion from the true
point.

"Oh yes, always; Mrs. Jones is quite one of ourselves."

"Then would you do me the favour to beg Mrs. Jones to oblige me with
her company for half an hour or so? There is an excellent fire in my
room, and perhaps Mrs. Jones would not object to step there."

Aunt Letty promised that Mrs. Jones should be sent, merely
suggesting the breakfast-parlour, instead of the bed-room; and to
the breakfast-parlour Mr. Prendergast at once betook himself, "What
can she know about the London property, or about the Irish
property?" thought Aunt Letty, to herself; and then it occurred to
her that, perhaps, all these troubles arose from some source
altogether distinct from the property.

In about a quarter of an hour, a knock came to the breakfast-parlour
door, and Mrs. Jones, having been duly summoned, entered the room
with a very clean cap and apron, and with a very low curtsey. "Good
morning, Mrs. Jones," said Mr. Prendergast; "pray take a seat;" and
he pointed to an armchair that was comfortably placed near the fire,
on the further side of the hearth-rug. Mrs. Jones sat herself down,
crossed her hands on her lap, and looked the very personification of
meek obedience.

And yet there was something about her which seemed to justify the
soubriquet of duchess, which the girls had given to her. She had a
certain grandeur about her cap, and a majestical set about the skirt