But it seemed that their presence was not even suspected. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. CHAPTER IV.
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