“I don't know,” said Mrs. Dunbar. “I'm afraid you judge too hastily. It may be for the best. Who knows?”
“It can only be for the worst,” said Wiggins, with solemn emphasis.
“There is a woman with him,” said Mrs. Dunbar, suddenly changing the conversation. “Who can she be?”
“A woman? What kind of a woman?”
“Elderly. I never saw her before. He calls himself Mowbray, and she is Mrs. Mowbray. What can be the meaning of that? The woman seems old enough to be his mother.”
“Old?” said Wiggins. “Ah—Mowbray—h'm! It must be some design of his on Edith. He brings this woman, so as to make a formal call. He will not tell her who he is. I don't like the look of this, and, what is worse, I don't know what to do. I could prohibit his visits, but that would be to give up my plans, and I can not do that yet. I must run the risk. As for Edith, she is mad. She is beyond my control. She drives me to despair.”
“I do not see what danger there is for Edith in his visits,” said Mrs. Dunbar, in a mournful voice.
“Danger!” said Wiggins. “A man like that!”
“You are judging him too hastily,” said Mrs. Dunbar.
Wiggins looked at her in silence for a moment, and then said,