"And, mother, did you ever know any one by the name of Basil Everman when you lived here long ago?"
Mrs. Bent rose and gathered her work together. Her face reddened again with the flush which came and went so easily. She looked not only startled, but frightened. For some reason Eleanor remembered the long-past encounter with drunken Bates on the shady street. As Mrs. Bent answered, she walked out into the darkened kitchen, her voice coming back with a muffled sound.
"He didn't talk about Basil Everman!"
"Yes, he did. He said that Basil Everman wrote wonderfully, and that nobody in Waltonville appreciated him or was willing to tell anything about him. Did you know him, mother?"
"Yes," answered Mrs. Bent. "I knew him." She came back into the lamplight. "Ain't you sleepy, Eleanor?" But Eleanor was not to be thus easily turned away. Basil Everman was Richard Lister's uncle and that was enough to make him interesting.
"Did you know him well, mother?"
Mrs. Bent put out her hand toward the lamp.
"Start upstairs, then I'll outen the light."
"Did you say you knew him well, mother?"
"Not so very well."