“Yes, sir.”
I took a good look at her. She was a brunette, and I have always fancied that style of woman. Some way, they look as if they would wash and wear better than the light style.
Her hair and eyes were very dark; the hair combed loosely, but in these days, when every woman’s hair curls, it is not worth while to mention that fact, I suppose. She had some color, and her expression was sweet in the extreme.
The hand which she had ungloved to indorse the draft was white and shapely, not a hand unused to labor, by any means.
Her age was seven or eight and twenty, I judged; possibly she might be thirty. Faces like hers do not show their age.
After that I saw Mrs. Leroy quite frequently. She came to the bank about once a fortnight, and always on business of this kind. I mean with a check to be cashed. She evidently had plenty of money, so my supposition that she had taken Locust Cottage because the rent was low could not be correct.
Sometimes she would stop a moment in the bank and answer my remarks about the weather, or the news—for I always tried to have something ready to say to her; but generally she seemed in a hurry, and I noticed that she never went into the street, but always started directly for home when she left the bank.
All her marketing was done by a colored woman, a great, strong-looking, sphinx-faced creature, who never[Pg 52] spoke an unnecessary word, and never answered any questions.
Mrs. Leroy was a Southerner, so it was probable, and the village concluded, that she had brought the woman from her old home with her.
I think I never told any one that I was getting quite well acquainted with Mrs. Leroy. Somehow, I did not feel as if I wanted to discuss her, or hear her discussed.