"I have no house."
"Your cousin's house, then?"
"If you refer to the person I was talking to—she is my cousin's housekeeper, I suppose."
Tom gave me a look, and I thought it time to let the subject drop. This was in Kitty's presence, though apparently she neither saw nor heard. I walked on ahead of the wagon, so angry that I was almost sick. Instantly Harshaw joined me, with a much nicer, brighter look upon his face.
"Mrs. Daly," he said, "I want to beg your pardon. I could not answer your question before Miss Comyn. The lady, as you were pleased to call her, is Mrs. Harshaw, my cousin—Micky's wife, you understand."
"Since when?"
"Day before yesterday, she tells me. They were married at Bliss."
"Well, I should say it was 'Bliss' for Kitty Comyn that she is not Mrs. Harshaw—too," I was about to add, but that would be going rather far. "And what did you want to bring that girl over here for?"
"Mrs. Daly, I have told you,—I thought she loved him."
"And what of his love for her?"