“Yes.”
“And my son comes to see you?”
“He comes—yes, he comes.”
“But that is rather defiant of everything, is it not?”
A blush of almost intense carmine washed Winifred’s face and neck. Mrs. Carshaw knew how to strike hard. Every woman knows how to hurt another woman.
“Miss Goodman, my landlady, usually stays in here when he comes,” said she.
“All the time?”
“Most of the time.”
“Well, I must not catechise you. No one woman has the right to do that to another, and you are sweet to have answered me at all. I think you are good and true; and you will therefore find it all the easier to sympathize with my motives, which have your own good at heart, as well as my son’s. First of all, do you understand that my son is very much in love with you?”
“I—you should not ask me—I may have thought that he liked me. Has—he—told you so?”