"Surely," said the minister, "surely." There might have been men who would have remembered that Mrs. Lawton was a tough woman, even for a mining town, and who would in the names of their own wives have refused to let her cross the threshold of their homes. But he saw that she was ill, and he did not so much as hesitate.
Cairness put his arm around the big angular shoulders and helped her into the sitting room. She dropped down upon the sofa, and sat there, her head hanging, but in sullenness, not humility.
Mrs. Taylor came to the dining-room door and looked in. "Can I do anything?" she asked.
"Come in," said her husband. He was pouring out a drink of whiskey.
She came and stood watching, asking no questions, while the woman on the sofa gulped down the raw whiskey and gave back the glass.
Cairness had gone out to hitch the horses. When he came in he spoke to Mrs. Lawton, as one possessed of authority. He told her to lie down if she wanted to. "With your leave, Mrs. Taylor?" he added. Mrs. Taylor was already beside her, fussing kindly and being met with scant courtesy.
Cairness took the Reverend Taylor to the door. "You know that is Bill Lawton's wife?" he said.
Taylor nodded.
"The one who sloped with the Greaser?"