"I'm sure we understand each other," said Sarah Brailsford, coolly, sitting proudly in her straight-backed chair.
"Well, I'm no one for beating about the bush," said Miss Crandall. "And far be it from me to stir up any trouble in a Christian household. But if you ask me, I'd watch that Early Ann."
"Would you mind if I closed the door into the kitchen?" Sarah asked quietly.
"No, shut the door so the hussy can't hear us," said Miss Crandall, "not that you can ever keep a secret from a hired girl so long as there are keyholes."
"What was it you were going to say?"
"Well, now, Sarah. I just want to do you a good turn same as I would expect you to do for me."
"Will you please come to the point, Miss Crandall?"
"Since you insist, Sarah, and may the Lord forgive me for telling you. But I think you ought to know that Early Ann Sherman is Stanley Brailsford's daughter, and the way they cut up together makes it all the nastier."
Sarah Brailsford swayed faintly, caught herself, and rose unsteadily to her feet. Her face was white and pinched, but her voice was clear and proud.