Days went on. At last one day Mrs. Busby said it was no use to wait any longer for the mantua-makers; Rotha might as well come down and have her dinner with the family. She could not stay in the drawing room of course, until she was decently dressed; but she might as well come to dinner. Rotha could not understand why so much could not have been granted from the first; there was nobody at the dinner table but her aunt and cousin and Mr. Busby. Mr. Busby was a very tall, thin man, always busy with newspapers or sheets of manuscript; whose "Good morning, my dear!" in that peculiar husky voice of his, was nearly all Rotha ever heard him say. He took his breakfast, or his dinner, and went off to his study at once. Rotha climbed the stairs to Mrs. Busby's dressing room, after the meal was over, and sat down to think. She was consuming herself in impatience and fretting. By and by Lesbia came in to see to the fire. "Lesbia," said Rotha with sudden resolution, "will you do something for me?" She looked at the girl eagerly. "Mebbe, miss. Like to know what 'tis, fust." "It is only, to tell me something," said Rotha lowering her voice. "Aint nothin' harder 'n to tell things," said the girl. "That's the hardest thing I know." "It isn't hard, if you are willing." "Don' know about that. Well, fire away, Miss Rotha. What you want?" Rotha went first to the door and shut it. Then came back and stood by the table where Lesbia was lighting the gas drop. "Lesbia, I want you to tell me-- You always open the door, don't you?" "'Cept when I aint there." "But in the evenings you do?" "I'm pretty likely to, miss--if it aint my evening out." "I want you to tell me--" Rotha lowered her voice to a whisper,--"if Mr. Southwode has been here lately?" Lesbia stood silent, considering. "You know him? You know Mr. Southwode?" "He brought you here the fust, didn't he?" "Yes. Yes, that is he. When was he here last?" "Don't just 'member." "But _about_ when? Two weeks or three weeks ago?" "Well, 'pears to me as if I'd seen him later 'n that." "When, Lesbia? Oh do tell me! do tell me!" "Why he aint nothin' particular to you, is he?" "He is _everything_ to me. He is the only friend I have got in the world. When was he here, Lesbia?" "He's a mighty handsome gentleman, with hair lighter than your'n, and a mustaches?" "Yes. He came with me that first day. Tell me, Lesbia!" "But Miss Rotha, I can't see what you want to know fur?" "Never mind. I tell you, he is all the friend I have got; and I'm afraid something is wrong, because I don't see him." "I reckon there is," said Lesbia, not reassuringly. "What?" "Mrs. Busby will kill me." "No, I shall not tell her you told me. O Lesbia, Lesbia, speak, speak!" Lesbia glanced at the girl and saw her intense excitement, and seemed doubtful. "You'll be so mad, you'll go tellin' the fust thing," she said.