And in the midst of her distress she put on a complacent smirk, straightened her emaciated form, and sat there, looking like the very ghost of pride, wrapped in an old red shawl.
"Did you speak of Mr. Betterson?" Jack inquired, interested.
"That is my husband's name."
"Elisha L. Betterson?"
"Certainly. You know my husband? He belongs to the Philadelphia Bettersons,—a very wealthy and influential family," said the woman with a simper. "Very wealthy and influential."
"I have heard of your husband," said Jack. "If I am not mistaken, you are Mrs. Caroline Betterson,—a sister of Vinnie Dalton, sometimes called Vinnie Presbit."
"You know my sister Lavinia!" exclaimed Mrs. Betterson, surprised, but not overjoyed. "And you know Mr. Presbit's people?"
"I have never seen them," replied Jack, "but I almost feel as if I had, I have heard so much about them. I was with Vinnie's foster-brother, George Greenwood, in New York, last summer, when he was sick, and she went down to take care of him."
"And I presume," returned Mrs. Betterson, taking another reef in her shawl, "that you heard her tell a good deal about us; things that would no doubt tend to prejudice a stranger; though if all the truth was known she wouldn't feel so hard towards us as I have reason to think she does."
Jack hastened to say that he had never heard Vinnie speak unkindly of her sister.