"No—y-yes—a little way."
Miss Tallmadge's embarrassment seemed to rouse in Mrs. Gano's breast a sentiment to which it was commonly a stranger. She was curious. Ought she not to know something about this woman who stood in the relation of mother to Ethan? What was her life like? What were her interests?
"I have always heard," the visitor said, as they walked along Somerset, and through Beacon to Tremont Street—"always heard what admirable house-keepers the New England women are. Do you do your own marketing?"
"Yes; but always earlier."
"This is a good time for shopping, before the crowded mid-day. I must look for a shawl of some kind."
"I would be glad to show you the best place for such things, but to-day I—I have a most important engagement."
She paused near a stationer's. On the right a staircase led from the street to the floor above. Several ladies bustled past, nodding good-morning to Miss Tallmadge, and disappearing up these stairs. Mrs. Gano's keen eyes explored the precincts. A small placard in the entry stated in white letters on lacquered tin: "Ladies' Domestic Philanthropic Society (Colored Registry Office)."
"H'm!" she said, not seeming to see the nervous hand seeking farewell. "Colored! What color?"
"I suppose you would say black."
Miss Tallmadge had drawn herself up.