"All right, Mr. Farvel," answered Balcome, soothingly. "But my
Hattie's happiness—that's what I'm thinking of." He came nearer to
Clare now. "And before I go," he said to her, "I'd like to ask you one
more question."
"Oh, you would!" she retorted ironically. "Well, I'm not going to answer any more questions. I've got a lot to do. And I want to be let alone." She made as if to go.
"Wait!" commanded Farvel.
She flushed angrily. "Well? Well? Well?" she demanded, her voice rising.
"We shan't trouble you again," assured the clergyman, more kindly.
"Then spit it out!" she cried to Balcome. "I want to know," began
Balcome, eyeing her keenly, "just whose child that is?"
It was Farvel's turn to gasp. "Child?" he echoed.
Mrs. Milo straightened against the green velours. "A child?" she said in turn.
"You know who I mean," declared Balcome, not taking his look from
Clare. "That little girl who called you Auntie."
She tried to speak naturally. "That—that—she's a friend's child—a friend's child from up-State."