White, tense and sickened to the depths of her being by the fear of shameful disclosures, the girl could make no reply.
Joe Curtis was watching his mother with worried eyes. The frightened faces of Helen and Charles Augustus peeped from behind Aunt Kate who, from the subdued exclamations and the indignant glances she gave her brother, was expecting to hear the worst of him.
Clearly, Obadiah was amazed at the woman’s words. He stood irresolute, his throat working as if he were trying to swallow something. At last he regained the power of speech. “Madam,” he began.
“Madam,” sneered the woman, “Octavia Curtis, the widow of Augustus Curtis, the man whose business you ruined by your infernal scheming, whose wife and two children were dragged by your greed and selfishness from a life of comfort–to this. What business have you in my house, you thief?”
Obadiah flushed and quailed under her words. Bewildered and puzzled, a guilty conscience in business catastrophes made him feel it advisable to allow his opponent to develop her case.
Mrs. Curtis’s words affected Virginia differently. Her face flushed and her fears passed. “Stop,” she interrupted, her eyes flashing angrily. “What right have you to speak so to my father?”
“Right?” Again that ugly laugh came from Mrs. Curtis as she urged, “Ask him how he ruined the Curtis mill at Brenton.”
Obadiah gave a start.
Aunt Kate, observing her brother through suspicious eyes, noted this. “As ye sow, so shall ye reap,” she quoted, for his greater comfort.
The mill owner glanced hastily towards the door as if seeking a line of retreat from this assemblage of women and lame men. But Aunt Kate, the inner keeper of the outer gate, barred his way.