The Harvester went to the Girl's side, and put a reinforcing arm around her.
“Perhaps he brings you some news that will make life most interesting and very lovely for you. Will you shake hands with Mr. Kennedy?”
The Girl suddenly straightened to unusual height.
“I will hear why he has been making 'quite a search for me,' and on whose authority he has me 'located,' first,” she said.
A diabolical grin crossed the face of the Harvester, and he took heart.
“Then please be seated, Mr. Kennedy,” he said, “and we will talk over the matter. As I understand, you are a representative of my wife's people.”
The Girl stared at the Harvester.
“Take your chair, Ruth, and meet this as a matter of course,” he advised casually. “You always have known that some day it must come. You couldn't look in the face of those photographs of your mother in her youth and not realize that somewhere hearts were aching and breaking, and brains were busy in a search for her.”
The Girl stood rigid.
“I want it distinctly understood,” she said, “that I have no use on earth for my mother's people. They come too late. I absolutely refuse to see or to hold any communication with them.”