Ross had had that thought, too. But it seemed to him that, no matter who had actually done this thing, even if it were an accident—which he did not believe—the guilt still lay upon the woman who had betrayed and abandoned the man and the child. Amy was guilty, and no one else. He straightened up, with a sigh.
“Come along!” he said. “We’ll get our dinner. No! Don’t be a fool, my lad. It’s what you need.”
Eddy was considerably relieved by his confession. He went upstairs, washed, changed his coat, and brushed his glossy hair, and when he set off toward the house, there was a trace of his old swagger about him. Only a trace, though, for he walked beneath a shadow.
As for Ross, there was precious little change to be discerned in his dour face and impassive bearing. And it was his very good fortune to be so constituted that he did not show what he felt, for he was to receive an unexpected shock.
“Sit down!” said Gracie, sharply. “I put somethin’ aside for you. Now hurry up! It puts me back with the dishes an’ all.”
“An’ thim extry people,” said the cook, who was also a little out of temper. “There’ll not be enough butter for breakfast, the way they did be eatin’, an’ me without a word of warnin’ at all.”
“It’s that Mr. Teagle,” said Gracie. “Them small men is always heavy eaters.”
“Teagle? Who’s he?” asked Eddy.
“Haven’t you heard?” cried Gracie, almost unable to believe that she was to have the bliss of imparting this amazing news. “Why, there was a body found in a lake somewheres.”
“Oh, I heard about that, down at the comp’ny!” said Eddy, scornfully.