“And the little girl who sits in front of her?” Walking to the swinging doors, he pushed them slightly open. “She’s sitting there now. Who is she?”
Miss Hanscom peeped into the room.
“That’s Elizabeth Wells, or Beth, as we call her.”
“Ah, yes. Her face attracted me. Does the family live here?”
Miss Hanscom really did not know, but she never was at a loss at giving information. She would not say, “I have been here but a few years and do not know all the people about here.” Not to know was to argue herself unknown. So she straightened her shoulders and set forth impressions as though they were facts.
“The Wells family have lived here for a century. Their farm was one of the first cleared. It’s about two miles out of town. Eliza Wells is the last of the family, except this little girl who is her brother’s daughter.”
“If she was a sister’s child, her name would not be Wells,” thought Miss Hanscom to herself as she justified her last remark.
Mr. Laurens moved away. “You heard, Ermann?” he said to his wife who had joined them.
“Yes,” she said dully, as though she had lost interest in everything about her. “Let us go to the car. I wish to go home.”
“Yes, Ermann,” he said. He escorted her, half leaning on his arm, into the main hall. The girls in the freshman class were preparing for dismissal and were passing into the cloak room, which was a division of the main hallway.