‘Ah!’ said Ida, ‘I always thought so.’
‘Ask her how much older,’ demanded Mrs. Morton.
The replies varied from nearly un sanestre to tre settimane—and no more could be made of that question.
‘Where was the foster-child?’
Again the woman threw up her hands to indicate that she had no notion—what was it to her? She could not tell if it were alive or dead; but (upon a leading question) it had not been seen since Hedwige’s departure nor after return. Was it boy or girl? and, after some hesitation, it was declared to have been un maschio.
There was more, which nobody quite understood, but which sounded abusive, and they were glad to get rid of her with a couple of thalers.
‘Well?’ said Ida triumphantly.
‘Well?’ echoed her mother in a different tone. ‘I don’t know what you were all saying, but I’m sure of this, that that woman was only looking to see what you wanted her to say. I watched the cunning look of her eyes, and I would not give that for her word,’ with a gesture of her fingers.
‘But, ma, you didn’t understand! Nothing could be plainer. The doctor recommended her, and sent her over in proper time, but she never saw any one but Mrs. Bury, who, no doubt, had made her arrangements. Then this other woman’s child was older—nobody knows how much—but we always agreed that nobody could believe Mite, as they call him, was as young as they said. And then that other child was a boy, and it has vanished.’
‘I don’t believe she knew.’