Now in a few seconds she would know about her mother.
Proudly restraining herself, she walked with composure to the stairs.
She was astonished to see Florrie bending down to pick up the letter.
Florrie must have been waiting ready to rush to the front door.

As she raised her body and caught sight of Hilda, Florrie blushed.
The stairs were blocked by the trunk which Hilda had left on the stair-mat for the cabman to deal with.

Standing behind the trunk, Hilda held forth her hand for the letter.
"Please, miss, it's for me," Florrie whispered, like a criminal.
"For you ?" Hilda cried, startled.
In proof Florrie timidly exposed the envelope, on which Hilda plainly saw, in a coarse, scrawling masculine hand, the words "Miss Florrie Bagster." Florrie's face was a burning peony.
Hilda turned superciliously away, too proud to demand any explanations.
All her alarms were refreshed by the failure of a letter from Miss Gailey.

In vain she urged to herself that Miss Gailey had thought it unnecessary to write, expecting to see her; or that the illness having passed, Miss Gailey, busy, had put off writing.

She could not dismiss a vision of a boarding-house in London upset from top to bottom by the grave illness of one person in it, and a distracted landlady who had not a moment even to scribble a post card.