“Good gracious!” said Mariposa, whose cheeks were crimson, “I never heard anything so exciting in my life, and we were just talking about it. I’ll probably sing like a dog baying the moon.”
“Don’t you talk that way. You’ll sing your best. And he’s not a man that you wouldn’t like Mariposa to meet”—turning to the pale and silent Lucy. “Whatever other faults he’s had he’s always been a straight man with women. There’s never been that sort of scandal about Jake Shackleton. There’s a story you’ve probably heard, that he was originally a Mormon. I don’t believe much in that myself. He had, anyway, only one wife when he entered California, and she’s been his wife ever since, and she ain’t the kind to have stood any nonsense of the Mormon sort.”
Lucy gave a sudden gasping breath and sat up. The light of the gray afternoon was dying outside, and by the glow of the fire her unusual pallor was not noticeable.
“It was very good of you,” she said. “Mariposa will be glad to go.”
“And you’ll come, too?” said Mrs. Willers. “He asked about you.”
“Did he say he’d ever known me?” said Lucy, quietly.
“No—not exactly that. No, I don’t believe he said that. But he was interested in you as the wife of the man he’d known so long ago.”
“Of course it would be only in that way,” murmured Lucy, sinking back. “No, I can’t come. It wouldn’t be possible. I’m not well enough.”
“Oh, mother, do. You know you go out on the cars sometimes, and the Sutter Street line is only two blocks from here. I know you’d enjoy it when you got there.”
“No, dearest. No, Mrs. Willers. Don’t, please, urge me. I am not able to meet new people. No— Oh, please don’t talk any more about my going.”