“Will you tell me what he said to you?” she queried, trying to hide her anger.
Jinnie looked down, and locked her fingers together.
“I can’t tell,” she said at length, moving in discomfort.
She wanted to go—to get away from the woman who looked at her so analytically, so resentfully. She got up nervously and picked up her fiddle.
“Don’t go,” urged Molly, starting forward.
Then she laughed a little and went on, “I suppose I did feel a bit jealous at first because we—Mr. King and I—have been friends so many years. But now we won’t think any more about it. I do want you to go from that terrible Paradise Road. It’s no place for a girl in your position.”
“You’ve told me that before,” retorted Jinnie, with clouded eyes. “My position isn’t anything. I haven’t any other home, and I’m a sort of a helper to Peggy.”
A helper to Peggy! Doubtless if Lafe had heard that he would have smiled. Truly she was a wonderful little helper, but she was more than that, much more—helper, friend, and protector all in one.
“Another thing,” added Jinnie quickly, “I love ’em all.”
“You’ve your own home in Mottville,” the woman suggested. “You ought to be there.”