'New' might mean new to the city, or it might just mean he's newly transferred from the Children's Home. Either way, she can sympathize, and her expression softens.

"Barge in whenever you like," Greta insists. "You're hardly the first." The older children are some of her most frequent visitors; they have more freedom of movement than the smaller children (no one's minding them quite as closely), and they're at a stage when three meals a day just isn't enough. She gives the lad a quick, assessing look. He's a bit thin, but not weedy. Probably got a hollow leg.

She steps out from behind the island, wiping her hands on her apron. "I'm Greta, Greta Baker. Ordinarily I'd offer a hand, but mine are a bit of mess just now. Here, would you like a quick tour?"