“Yes,” said Mrs Lane. “You have come from him. He brought you to-day?”
“I said I should come and see you,” said Mrs Jenkles, looking sharply from one to the other.
“And he told you?” said Mrs Lane, hesitatingly.
“Yes; my husband tells me everything,” said Mrs Jenkles, stiffly.
“Then you know how good he was to mamma?” said the girl, coming forward.
“My husband’s one of the best men under the sun, Miss; only he has his weaknesses.”
“Yes, it was weak,” said Mrs Lane, with a touch of bitterness in her voice—“and to such strangers.”
“If you mean about the money, ma’am,” said Mrs Jenkles, in the same uncompromising manner, “I don’t; I meant something else.”
Mrs Lane directed an imploring look at her daughter, and the girl hastily took up her work, as did her mother, and stitched away.
“That may have been weak, and it may not,” said Mrs Jenkles, who took in everything. “It all depends.”