He saw before him a fine and extremely well-made young woman, with dark hair, a wide, sensible, beautiful forehead, eyes that warmed him before he knew it, and a mouth that was in itself a picture to all appreciative souls.
'Can I get you anything else for tea ?' she said, coming forward a step or two, an expression of liveliness on her features, and her hand waving the door by its edge.
'Nothing, thank you,' said Stockdale, thinking less of what he replied than of what might be her relation to the household.
'You are quite sure ?' said the young woman, apparently aware that he had not considered his answer.
He conscientiously examined the tea-things, and found them all there.
'Quite sure, Miss Newberry,' he said.
'It is Mrs.Newberry,' she said.

'Lizzy Newberry, I used to be Lizzy Simpkins.' 'O, I beg your pardon, Mrs.Newberry.' And before he had occasion to say more she left the room.
Stockdale remained in some doubt till Martha Sarah came to clear the table.

'Whose house is this, my little woman,' said he.
'Mrs.Lizzy Newberry's, sir.' 'Then Mrs.Newberry is not the old lady I saw this afternoon ?' 'No.

That's Mrs.Newberry's mother.

It was Mrs.Newberry who comed in to you just by now, because she wanted to see if you was good-looking.' Later in the evening, when Stockdale was about to begin supper, she came again.