"It's true what we heard about Deirdre Farrel going to marry McNab. She was married to him this morning. You'd better break the news to Davey. He doesn't know yet. I dursn't tell him for fear he'd go to McNab. I wanted to bring him safe to you. Jessie and I'll go home now. No doubt you'll like to have the house to yourself, but if you want anything, or there's anything we can do for you—"
"We're always glad to do anything for you, Mrs. Cameron, dear," Jessie said softly.
"It's a queer, heartless girl Deirdre is, to play fast and loose with the love of a fine fellow like Davey," Mrs. Ross said, when Jess was outside setting their bundles and baskets into the cart.
"Oh, she wouldn't do that—Deirdre," Mrs. Cameron replied. "It's something dreadful that's driven her to it."
"Yes—I suppose it is," Mrs. Ross sighed. "Poor child. Perhaps I'm spiteful about it, Mary. But maybe now that she is out of the way, Davey may think of my Jessie again."
Davey' s mother smiled sadly.
"I'd be sorry for any woman he married but Deirdre, for she has the whole of him—heart and soul," she said.
"Oh well, it's a pity!" Mrs. Ross kissed her good-bye. "Jess had better make up her mind to have Buddy Morrison, then, and that's what I've been telling her this long time. He's a good lad, very fond of her, and been wanting to marry her for the last five years."
When Jess and her mother had gone, driving off in their high, jolting buggy, Davey and Mrs. Cameron went indoors together.
He had aged considerable since she last saw him. It was a stern, strange face to her, this her boy's. There were sorrow, self-repression, a bitter realisation of life and what it means in heartache and disappointment, in his expression; something of power and assurance too.