Mrs. Tanner arrived at half-past six. It was her first visit since the departure of the fleet several weeks before, and there was plenty to talk about. But Ma Tanner wisely reserved her conversation until after the meal, for the “vittles” of Mallaby House were famous the whole length of the New Brunswick coast.
Afterward when they had retired to Elsa’s pink and gray boudoir, the eternal envy of Grande Mignon womanhood, the talk flowed freely.
“It’s this way, Elsa,” declared ma confidentially. “I think Nellie is pretty well took care of. Now young Nat Burns, as you know, is pretty well off, as the sayin’ goes on the island. He really wouldn’t have to fish if he didn’t want to. His father didn’t neglect him when his time come.”
Ma Tanner did not see the change in Elsa’s expression. The pupils of her magnificent black eyes expanded and the delicate brows drew together over the bridge of her nose. The close mouth, with its ugly set, would not have been recognized by any but lifelong friends.
“And Nat’s about’s good as any boy,” went on ma. “Boys is turr’ble hard to fetch up so they don’t disgrace ye and send ye to the grave with gray head bowed in sorter, as the poet says. Nat ain’t bad. He speaks sharp to his mother once in a while, but la––what boy don’t? I think he’ll treat Nellie right and be a good man to her.”
“Ma,” said Elsa, and her voice was quiet and intense as though she were keeping herself well in hand, “that’s what every one thinks about Nat Burns.”
“Wal,” asked the elder woman, slightly resentful, “don’t you think so?”
“What I think has nothing whatever to do with the question. But what I know might have. I don’t want Nellie’s life ruined, that’s all.”
“Look here, Elsa, what’re you drivin’ at?” Ma Turner was becoming wrought up. She knew there must be something behind these hints or Elsa would never venture on such thin ice with her.