'We're in such trouble, dear,' she said.

'Trouble! Nonsense! No trouble at all! Look here, Rose, that woman has
died now.' She shook the letter threateningly. 'Read this! Reginald's
wife! I suppose she was his wife. I dare say he had dozens.'

'Caroline!' Sophia remonstrated.

Rose took the letter and read what Mrs. Reginald Mallett, believing
herself about to die, had written in her big, sprawling hand. The
letter was only to be posted after her death and she made no apology
for asking the Malletts to see that her daughter had the chance of
earning her living suitably. 'She is a good girl,' she wrote, 'but
when I am gone her only friend will be the landlady of this house and
there are young men about the place who are not the right kind. I am
telling my dear girl that I wish her to accept any offer of help she
gets from you, and she will do what I ask.'

'So, you see,' Caroline said as Rose looked up, 'we're not done with
Reginald yet, and what I propose is that we send Susan for the girl
to-morrow.'

'Yes, to-morrow,' Sophia echoed.

'Shall I go?' Rose asked. Sophia murmured gratitude, Caroline snorted
doubt, and Rose added, 'No, I think not. She wouldn't like it. Susan
would be better--but not to-morrow. You must write to the child--
what's her name? Henrietta--'