Blanche drew her shawl a little closer around her. "Not very well; sit down, won't you?"
"Can't stop. You don't seem very peart. I want to know what seems to be the trouble." Her keen eyes had never seemed so penetrating before. Blanche flushed and moved uneasily. She was afraid of the old creature, who seemed half-man, half-woman.
"Oh, I don't know. Rheumatism, I guess."
"That so? Well, this weather is 'nough to give anybody rheumatiz. I tell Ed—that's my boy—I tell Ed we made holy fools of ourselves comin' out here. I never see such a damn country f'r wind." She rambled on about the weather for some time, and at last rose. "Well, I wanted to borrow your wash-boiler; mine leaks like an infernal old sieve, and I dasen't go to town to get it mended for fear of a blow. What's trouble?"
Blanche suddenly put her hand to her side and grew white and rigid. Then the blood flamed into her cheeks, and the perspiration stood out on her forehead. She clinched her lips between her teeth and lay back in her chair.
"Ye look kind o' faint. Can't I do something for ye? Got any pain-killer? That's good, well rubbed in," volunteered the old woman.
"No, no, I—I'm all right now, it was just a sharp twinge, that's all—you'll find the boiler in the shed; I don't need it." Her tone was one of dismissal.
The old woman rose. "All right, I'll find it. Set still." As she went out she grinned—a mocking, sly, aggravating grin. "It's all right—nothin' to be ashamed of. I've had ten. I called my first one pleurisy. It didn't fool any one, though." She cackled and creaked with laughter as she shut the door.
Blanche sat motionless, staring straight before her, while the fire died out and the room grew cold.
Her terror and shame gave way at last, and she allowed herself to dream of the mystical joy of maternity. She permitted herself to fancy the life of a mother in a sheltered and prosperous home. She felt in imagination the touch of little lips, the thrust of little hands, the cling of little arms. "My baby should come into a lovely, sun-lit room. It should have a warm, pretty cradle. It should—"