“Who’s advertising for her,” said the visitor, “and what has she done to need forgiveness? That should be my son’s business, I think. Her treachery was what cut him to the heart. He knew her and had often exchanged jokes with her at the door during the short time she was in the house. I told you, sir, that he loved a pretty face. This girl was pretty, and in an impudent lively way, he told me—but indeed I was able to see for myself; and though a mother’s eyes are prejudiced, I am not going to deny her an attraction of a sort.”
“She gave the receipt to your son, you say—or he says?”
“He told me, sir, that he was never so shocked and horrified in his life as when, returning from his round, he found it missing.”
“But if she gave it to him?”
“That is so, sir.” She put a hand momentarily to her eyes. “I must speak the whole truth,” she said in a low troubled voice. “Charlie was reticent about that morning. I felt that he was hiding something from me—not his guilt; no, sir, no. But I believe that, as a fact, he was courting the girl, and I can’t help thinking that his silence about particulars was designed in some way to screen her.”
“What has become of her? Have you tried to see her since?”
“She has left her situation, sir; which makes me the more certain that this advertisement refers to her.”
“Softly, Mrs Baxter! We mustn’t jump too surely to conclusions. There may be other Jennetts in the world.”
“There may be, sir; or there may have been once. There’s a tombstone in Hampshire, I’m told, with the name on it spelt that way. But not in London. Local wants would be advertised in local papers.” She had evidently considered the case in all its bearings. “I should like,” she said, “to have a word with Jennett’s employer.”
“Well, why not?” asked Gilead.