“Shall I bring him up?”
“If you like.”
Trimble went to the landing and called out: “You can come up, Floyd.”
Floyd entered the room, holding his hat awkwardly in his hands. He was not used to society, and did not look forward with much pleasure to the interview which had been forced upon him.
“I hope I see you well, ma’am,” he said, bobbing his head.
“As well as I ever expect to be,” answered Mrs. Trimble, sadly. “Your name is——”
“Floyd, ma’am. Darius Floyd.”
“And you knew my poor son?”
“Yes, ma’am, I knew him well. Ed and I was regular cronies.”
Mrs. Trimble looked at the man before her, and was mildly surprised. Certainly Edward must have changed, or he would not keep such company. But, prejudiced against her son as she had been by her husband’s misrepresentations, she feared that this was only another proof of Edward’s moral decadence.