“And Matty, old Matty?”
“Who’s Matty?” interjected Molly.
“The black woman who took care of me. She lived with me for ever so long.”
Molly didn’t reply for some time. Then:
“I think she died; at least I heard she did.”
A cold shudder ran over Jinnie’s body. Matty then had gone to join those who, when they were called, had no choice but to answer. She leaned against the soft cushions moodily. She was harking back to other days, and Molly permitted her to remain silent for some time.
“You must have people of your own you could live with,” she resumed presently. “It’s wrong for a girl with your money––”
Jinnie’s lovely mouth set at the corners.
“I wouldn’t leave Lafe and Peggy for anybody in the world, not if I had relations, but I haven’t.”
“I thought—I thought,” began Molly, pretending to bring to mind something she’d forgotten. “You have an uncle,” she burst forth.