“His name is Tom Pepperil. He used to live near Riverside, but he went away for a long time and made a fortune. Now he has come back, and, according to Clara’s letters, is making desperate love to her.”
“But she has no right to listen to him! She’s Jim’s!”
Mabel glanced up at him swiftly and then down at the pattern of the rug again.
“No,” she said. Then, after a long minute, she came close to Joe and put her hand over his again.
“Wouldn’t it be dreadful,” she said, “if the worst we fear should happen, and she should give up good old Jim for that fellow, whose chief recommendation is his money?”
“I couldn’t bear to think of it,” groaned Joe. “I’d rather lose every cent I have in the world than have it happen. Tell me that you don’t think it will ever come to that!”
“I don’t know, Joe,” said Mabel, sadly. “She’s so tantalizingly vague. Perhaps it’s the strain she’s under on account of mother that makes her so different from her usual self. I can’t understand Clara any more.”
There was a long silence, and then Joe roused himself to ask dully:
“Do you think we ought to tell Jim?”