“Did you speak?” asked the cooper, who was passing through the entry on his way out.
“No,” said the nurse, a little awkwardly. “I believe I said something to myself. It's of no consequence.”
“Somehow,” thought the cooper, “I don't fancy the woman's looks, but I dare say I am prejudiced. We're all of us as God made us.”
While Mrs. Crump was making preparations for the noon-day meal, she imparted to Rachel the astonishing information, which has already been detailed to the reader.
“I don't believe a word of it,” said Rachel, resolutely.
“She's an imposter. I knew she was the very first moment I set eyes on her.”
This remark was so characteristic of Rachel, that Mrs. Crump did not attach any special importance to it. Rachel, of course, had no grounds for the opinion she so confidently expressed. It was consistent, however, with her general estimate of human nature.
“What object could she have in inventing such a story?”
“What object? Hundreds of 'em,” said Rachel, rather indefinitely. “Mark my words, if you let her carry off Ida, it'll be the last you'll ever see of her.”
“Try to look on the bright side, Rachel. Nothing is more natural than that her mother should want to see her.”