Ada saw her to the door, and went straight to the kitchen.
“Kate,” she said to her cook, “Mr. Branstone has disgraced himself, he’s been unfaithful. I am going to my father’s. Please tell him that I know everything and that I shall not return.” She had no reticence.
“Very well, mum,” said the Capable cook.
The result was that when Sam went into the drawing-room that night, he found Anne Branstone sitting there, darning his socks, and perhaps it was because she was happy that she did not look a day older than when he saw her last; perhaps charring suited her; or perhaps living for an idea had kept her young. The idea was that, some day, Sam would need her.
It wasn’t a miracle: there was nothing more wonderful about it than the fact that Anne was a very good friend of the cook, Kate Earwalker: but Sam stood gaping helplessly. In his own house, at his age, and after all these years he stood before his mother, the intruder, like a schoolboy who knows himself at fault. She lacked nothing of the old ascendancy.
“Well,” she said, “you’re nobbut happy when you’ve got folks talking of you. But you don’t look thriving on it, neither.”
“Mother,” he gasped, “what’s this?”
“It’s you that will tell me that,” said Anne.
“Where’s Ada?”
“Gone to her father’s, and none coming back, she says. Says you’re unfaithful and told Kate she knows everything. What is it, Sam? What’s everything?”