"Thank you, it is mine," said Mrs. Jerome. "Are you Robert Granger's mother?"
"No, ma'am. I am his wife's mother. My name is Mary Rogers."
Mrs. Jerome went to the window and seated herself. The hem of her dress brushed against the letter, and she stooped and picked it up, crushing it in her hand. The visitor did not offer to go. She had even removed her hat, and stood nervously twisting its ribbons in her hard, brown fingers.
"Will you sit down, Mrs. Rogers?"
The woman sank upon a chair without speaking. She was visibly embarrassed, moving her hands and feet restlessly about, and then bursting into sudden speech.
"I've got somethin' I want to say to ye, Mis' Jerome. It's kind o' hard to begin—harder'n I thought 'twould be."
She spoke in a strained, trembling voice, with many pauses.
"It's something that ought to be said, an' there's nobody to say it but me. Perhaps—you don't know—that folks round here is a-talkin' about—about you an' Rob."
Mrs. Jerome smiled—a scornful smile which showed her beautiful teeth. The woman saw it, and her swarthy face flushed.
"I don't suppose it matters to you, ma'am, if they be," she said, bitterly, "an' it ain't on your account I come. It's on Ruby's account. Ruby's my darter. Oh, Mis' Jerome,"—she dropped her indignant tone, and spoke pleadingly,—"you don't look a bit like a wicked woman, only proud, an' used to havin' men praise ye, an' I'm sure if you could see Ruby you'd pity her, ma'am. She's a-worryin' an' breakin' her heart over Rob's neglectin' of her so, but she don't know what folks is a-sayin'. I've kep' it from her so far, but I'm afeard I can't keep it much longer, for folks keeps a throwin' out 'n' hintin' round, and if Ruby should find it out—the way she is now—it'd kill her!"