Mrs. Ives grew quite red in the face with anger, but she restrained herself, hoping to mold the simple-minded woman to her will. Shaking her head vehemently, she replied:
“Ah, you don’t know the Wyldes! They are the proudest people in Richmond, rich and fashionable, and belong to one of the oldest families in Virginia. All of them have been professional men, and they consider working people as no better than their servants. If Norman Wylde was fool enough to want to marry a mechanic’s daughter and a working girl, which you may be sure he isn’t, his folks would disinherit him, and never speak to him again.”
Mrs. Robbins shook her head and sighed.
“I hate to think of my husband’s niece a-being in sech a scrape. Ef she’s been bold and forrard, ma’am, I never noticed it.”
“Of course not. She was too sly,” sneered Mrs. Ives. “But I see you’re bound to take her part, Mrs. Robbins, and I’ll say no more, only this: If disgrace comes on your family through that audacious piece, remember I warned you.”
“I’ll talk to Mr. Robbins,” was the only answer from the woman of few words.
CHAPTER IV.
THE BIRD FLIES.
Meanwhile poor Pansy, half crazed with shame and grief, was sobbing forlornly up in her little chamber under the eaves.
She believed that Norman Wylde had been amusing himself with her, and the thought was agony to her fond, loving heart.
“I loved him so! Oh, I loved him so! And it was cruel, cruel for him to deceive me,” she moaned bitterly, while the shame of it all weighed heavily on her sensitive spirit.