The handsome man before her sank back into his seat like one stunned. His face paled, his voice trembled as he said:
“Madame, I do not understand. Do you mean to tell me that your son’s wife is dead! poor, pretty Molly—dead?” mournfully.
“I thought you came here to tell us that?” pointedly. “Whose child is that?” with a loathing gesture.
“Mine, madame,” proudly.
“And hers, Molly Trueheart’s!” exclaimed Mrs. Laurens scornfully.
He looked at her, wondering if she could be mad.
“Mrs. Laurens, answer me one question if you can,” he said impatiently. “Where is Mrs. Cecil Laurens if she is not dead?”
“I do not know. Cecil—we all thought she was with you,” hopelessly.
“My God, Mrs. Laurens, I have never seen sweet little Molly since her wedding night! Why should she come to me?”
“She ran away from Cecil four years ago. Every one thought she went to you,” Mrs. Laurens faltered, her heart beating fast with excitement.