“He must have been,” said Mrs. Ives. “It’s afflictin’ to hear you, ma’am. Maybe you has got his picter? I’d like well to see it.”
“I have got a lovely photograph, but I don’t show it to everybody.”
“Well, then, ma’am, I won’t ask again, and I’m very much obliged for the nice food and thank you kindly. I sympathize with your grief. I has lost children of my own, and I know what it means.”
“If you would really like to see the photograph,” began Mrs. Posset, “I don’t mind showing it to you, for you seem a feeling sort of body.”
As she spoke she crossed the room, opened a chiffonier and took out a leather case. This she unfastened and laid before the little woman. Mrs. Ives dropped three or four curtseys in succession, her face turned white and her lips trembled.
“I thank you, ma’am. It brings the tears to my eyes to see that little face,” she said.
Then she made a hasty adieu and vanished.
CHAPTER XXV.
“THERE’S A CRUEL SIN SOMEWHERE.”
On leaving the house Mrs. Ives walked quickly up the avenue. When she had gone nearly a mile she met one of the under-gardeners. He was weeding and cutting the edges of the road. As her wont was, Mrs. Ives dropped a curtsey right in front of him.
“A’ternoon,” she said.