"She will—to help her move."
"Step in, sir."
Squire Davenport, with the air of a master, followed Ben into the sitting room. Mrs. Barclay sat quietly at the table with her sewing in hand.
"Good-day, widow," said the squire patronizingly.
He was rather surprised at her quiet, unruffled, demeanor. He expected to find her tearful and sad.
"Good-day, Squire Davenport," she said quietly. "Is your family well?"
"Zounds! she takes it coolly," thought the squire.
"Very well," he said dryly. "I suppose you know my business?"
"You come about the mortgage?"
"Yes; have you decided where to move?"