She drew a breath of relief.
“I’d rather not tell,” she confessed; “only I felt—I felt as if I should.”
“What good would it do!” her son asked her gravely. “It would only make matters worse.”
“But, Danny”—she called him Danny sometimes, as she had when he was two years old—“she’s Willie’s wife, and she’s being talked about!”
“Hush!” said Daniel, lifting a warning hand.
Unheard by either of them, the front door had opened and closed. Fanchon crossed the hall lightly, her quick ear catching their voices. She came to the door now and stood there with flashing eyes.
“You were talking about me,” she said with her amazing and terrible frankness. “I heard you!”
“Oh, good gracious!” Mrs. Carter fled hastily to the door that opened into the kitchen pantry. “I’ve got to go and see Miranda,” she panted, and went out and shut the door.
Daniel, left alone, rose from his chair. He was flushed, but his eyes twinkled.
“We can’t help it, Fanchon,” he said amiably. “You’re the kind, you know. You don’t leave any neutrals in your territory.”