The pale, sad-looking creature recoiled from him with a frightened denial:
“I—I—that is not my name!”
Norman caught her wrist in a firm yet tender clasp, for she was trying to get away.
“Wait!” he said sternly. “Denials are useless, for I know that you are Mrs. Laurens, and I think you know that I am Norman Wylde. I was just speaking about you and wishing I knew where to find you. I want you to tell me the truth about this child here. Is it not your daughter Pansy’s?”
“No—oh, no!” she exclaimed wildly; but just then Mrs. Meade exclaimed surprisedly:
“La, me, that’s the very woman I have seen dozens of times, hanging about when I took Pet out, but never mistrusted who she was!”
Mrs. Laurens looked at her imploringly, and faltered out:
“You must be mistaken. I never saw you before, ma’am.”
“Well, I never!” ejaculated the housekeeper, and little Pet himself gave the lie to Mrs. Laurens’ denial, for he came to her with a smile, and cooed sweetly:
“Is oo dot any more tandy to-day?”