What
consolation the poor thing finds in just looking at a window I'm sure I
don't know."
"He sees you there, Miss Bessie. Or hopes to see you."
"You can't see me from the street."
"From the opposite pavement you can. I know, because I have seen Miss
Deleah sitting there; with her book, and the bird, and the flowers."
Bessie's attention was caught by that piece of intelligence. "Can you? Are
you sure?" she asked; and at that moment, unpropitious for her, Deleah
appeared with her mother.
"Mama! When Deda sits on the window-seat in the corner she can be seen
from the street!"
"Well, my dear?"
"Well, mama! You don't wish Deda to make herself conspicuous, I suppose?"
"Who says I make myself conspicuous?" an ireful Deleah demands. "Who has
been saying anything about me?"
"I," the Manchester man hurriedly admits. "I did not say you were
conspicuous, Miss Deleah. I only said I had seen you sitting there with
your book--among the flowers."
"She is not to sit there again, mama. Will you please say so? Deda, you
are not to sit in the window again. We can't help living above a grocer's
shop, but we need not make a display of ourselves."
"If it offends Mr. Gibbon he does not need to look at the window.
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