"Ye come to blame me fer servin' him, I suppose?" Nancy suggested, without the slightest trace of animosity in her tones.
"We don't blame you, Mrs. McVeigh. Please do not misunderstand our intentions. The fact is, we know you to be—er—different from most women, and your house is your living, but Mr. Keene is a young man with an exceptionally bright future, if he will only settle down to it. I have heard a great deal about you, Mrs. McVeigh, and I know the goodness of your heart from the part you took at Brother Tom's death. We were sure of your co-operation, and that is why we have come to you."
"And what can I do?" Nancy asked, kindly.
"Stop his drinking, please," burst out the younger woman, impetuously, and then she blushed furiously, while Miss Piper frowned. Nancy, however, let the remark pass unnoticed, and asked, with feigned innocence, "Is he yer young man, Miss Trevor?"
The girl, for she was easily under twenty-one, was more embarrassed than ever at the keen intuition of the old tavern-keeper, and an awkward silence ensued, during which Miss Piper vainly tried to say something to bring the conversation back to more conventional lines.
"Do you love him?" Nancy questioned further, relentless in her desire to enjoy the privileges of being a confidant in Miss Piper's plans.
Miss Trevor would have answered haughtily enough if it had been an ordinary acquaintance who thus probed into her secrets, but the strong, trustful influence of this woman humbled her into a school-girl demeanor.
"Yes," she answered, simply, and Miss Piper became more uncomfortable.
"Does he know it?" Nancy persisted.
"No,—er—perhaps. Oh, Mrs. McVeigh, you seem to have taken all my sense out of me," the girl gasped, helplessly, and covered her crimson face with her handkerchief.