Casty, mem. It's a Irish name, I b'lieve, an' I can't say as
I'm partial to the Irish, but--"
"Very well," Ida broke in hastily. "I'll see if I can do anything."
Paying no attention to the blessings showered upon her by the
counsel in this case, blessings to which she was accustomed, and of
which she well understood the value, Ida went out into the Lane, and
walked away quickly. She did not pause at the Clock House, but
walked as far as a quiet street some little distance off, and then
paced the pavement for a while, in thought. Who this "Mrs. Casty"
was she could have little doubt. The calumnies against her husband
were just such as Harriet Casti would be likely to circulate.
For a moment it had seemed possible to go to the public-house and
make personal inquiries, but reflection showed her that this would
be a needless imprudence, even had she been able to overcome herself
sufficiently for such an interview. She went home instead, and at
once despatched Miss Hurst to the Clock House to discover whether it
was indeed Harriet Casti who lay there, and, if so, what her real
condition was. That lady returned with evidence establishing the
sick woman's identity. Harriet, she reported, was indeed m a sad
state, clearly incapable of supporting herself by any kind of work.
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