No, not to herself--to someone she evidently thought was by her side; she called him darling and other sweet names, and waited for his replies and nodded pleased assent to them, or pouted at them, and terrified Elspeth knew that she was talking to the man who never came.
When she saw Elspeth she stopped irresolutely, and the two stood looking in fear at each other.

"You are not my brat, are you ?" the Painted Lady asked.
"N-no," the child gasped.
"Then why don't you call me nasty names ?" "I dinna never call you names," Elspeth replied, but the woman still looked puzzled.
"Perhaps you are naughty also ?" she said doubtfully, and then, as if making up her mind that it must be so, she came closer and said, with a voice full of pity: "I am so sorry." Elspeth did not understand half of it, but the pitying voice, which was of the rarest sweetness, drove away much of her fear, and she said: "Do you no mind me?
I was wi' Tommy when he gave you the gold packet on Muckley night." Then the Painted Lady remembered.

"He took such a fancy to me," she said, with a pleased simper, and then she looked serious again.
"Do you love him ?" she asked, and Elspeth nodded.
"But is he all the world to you ?" "Yes," Elspeth said.
The Painted Lady took her by the arm and said impressively, "Don't let him know." "But he does know," said Elspeth.
"I am so sorry," the Painted Lady said again.

"When they know too well, then they have no pity." "But I want Tommy to know," Elspeth insisted.
"That is the woeful thing," the Painted Lady said, rocking her arms in a way that reminded the child of Grizel.

"We want them to know, we cannot help liking them to know!" Suddenly she became confidential.