"It is lovely!" she said. Then, turning to look at the little house, she added, "And it was your old home, I suppose."
Jed nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he replied. "I was born in that house and lived there all my life up to five years ago."
"And then you gave it up. Why? . . . Please forgive me. I didn't mean to be curious."
"Oh, that's all right, ma'am. Nothin' secret about it. My mother died and I didn't seem to care about livin' there alone, that's all."
"I see. I understand."
She looked as if she did understand, and Jed, the seldom understood, experienced an unusual pleasure. The sensation produced an unusual result.
"It's a kind of cute and old-fashioned house inside," he observed. "Maybe you'd like to go in and look around; would you?"
She looked very much pleased. "Oh, I should, indeed!" she exclaimed. "May I?"
Now, the moment after he issued the invitation he was sorry. It had been quite unpremeditated and had been given he could not have told why. His visitor had seemed so genuinely interested, and, above all, had treated him like a rational human being instead of a freak. Under this unaccustomed treatment Jed Winslow had been caught off his guard—hypnotized, so to speak. And now, when it was too late, he realized the possible danger. Only a few hours ago he had told Mr. and Mrs. George Powless that the key to that house had been lost.
He paused and hesitated. Mrs. Armstrong noticed his hesitation.