“All right,” Bertha said impatiently, “you couldn’t fight against public opinion. You’ve told me that four or five times.”
Her visitor said, “It explains why Mrs. Goldring got me to sign that release. I was in the penitentiary when she found me.”
“ Oh, oh!”
“You can understand the position in which she put me. She did it very nicely. It was a beautiful form of blackmail. In prison I was without funds. I couldn’t support my daughter. Mrs. Goldring was in a position to give her a good home. Whatever dreams I might have had of waiting until my child had grown to a point where she could understand her mother, and then having a reunion with her, or of being able to provide a home for her while she was still so young that she wouldn’t remember about the institution — all those dreams had evaporated. I was in for a five-year stretch. I didn’t serve it all, but at that time I didn’t know I wouldn’t have to.”
“What,” Bertha asked, “were you in for?”
The mouth tightened. “That, Mrs. Cool, to put it bluntly, is none of your business.”
“Go ahead and put it bluntly, dearie,” Bertha said. “I’m a blunt woman myself.”
“That’s going to help things.”
“Okay,” Bertha announced. “What do you want?”
The woman smiled. “Remember that my hands are tied. Mrs. Goldring has a hold over me.”