“The land on which her cottage stands is about to be sold,” said Mrs. de Tracy. “It is necessary that she should move.”
“Yes, she quite understood that; but she thinks she is not going to get another house; that was what was distressing her, naturally. Of course she hates to leave the old place, but I believe if she gets another nicer cottage, that will quite console her,” said Robinette quickly.
“I have no vacant cottage on the estate just now,” said Mrs. de Tracy quietly.
“Then what is she to do? Isn’t it impossible that she should move until another place is made ready for her?” Robinette rose and stood beside the table, leaning the tips of her fingers on it in an attitude of intense earnestness. She was trying to conceal the anger and dismay she felt at her aunt’s reply.
“Mrs. Prettyman has relatives at Exeter,” said Mrs. de Tracy without the quiver of an eyelid.
“Yes; but they are poor. They aren’t very near relations, and they don’t want her. O Aunt de Tracy, is it necessary to make her leave? She depends upon the plum tree so! She makes twenty-five dollars a year from the jam!”
“Dollars have no significance for me,” said Mrs. de Tracy with an icy smile.
“Well, pounds then: five pounds she makes. How is she ever going to live without that, unless you give her the equivalent? It’s half her livelihood! I promised you would consider it? Was I wrong?”
Old bitternesses rose in Mrs. de Tracy’s heart, the prejudices and the grudges of a lifetime. Everything connected with Robinette’s mother had been wrong in her eyes, and now everything connected with Robinette was wrong too, and becoming more so with startling rapidity.