Mrs. Hattie smiled faintly, wiped her eyes again, and got to her feet.
“You talk just like Jim. He’s always saying that.”
“Well, just try it,” smiled Miss Maggie, helping her visitor into the luxurious fur coat. “You’ve no idea how much more comfort you’ll take.”
“Would I?” Mrs. Hattie’s eyes were wistful, but almost instantly they showed an alert gleam of anger.
“Well, anyhow, I’m not going to try to do what those Gaylords do any longer. And—and you’re sure Fred won’t have to go to prison?”
“I’m very sure,” nodded Miss Maggie.
“All right, then. I can go home now with some comfort. You always make me feel better, Maggie, and you, too, Mr. Smith. I’m much obliged to you. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said Mr. Smith.
“Good-bye,” said Miss Maggie. “Now, go home and go to bed, and don’t worry any more or you’ll have one of your headaches.”
As the door closed behind her visitor, Miss Maggie turned and sank into a chair. She looked worn and white, and utterly weary.