“Is it you, Boyce?” he said, pausing close to the laundry-door, and peering in to be sure the room was empty. “Just step inside here, and be quick; you and I must not be seen together much just now. Well, what is it? Speak low!”
“The old woman, Mrs. Laurence, was arrested this morning.”
“All right! But how do you know?”
“I stood in the store, and saw the man go that way; you know the house is in full sight. By just stepping under the awning I can see the vines on the porch, and that crowd of flowers in front.”
“Does Mrs. Smith know yet?”
“Yes. She’s just found it out, and pitched into her husband awful. He’s satisfied, and won’t give way an inch. But isn’t she on the rampage! The worst of it is, I’ve got to go before the justice, and I tell you it’s unpleasant.”
“Yes; but you are in for it, and must go through. Anything else?”
“Yes; something that the cook told me. Tell me, old fellow, have you put your foot in it to the extent of saddling yourself with another sweetheart. She talks of your being engaged, of a wedding, and so forth. How much of this is true?”
The footman drew Boyce farther into the room, and shut the door.
“I say Boyce, if I was to marry a woman, with more than five hundred dollars laid up from wages, and five thousand a pretty sure thing, would you stand by me?”