“Anything wrong?” asked the black-eyed little woman.
“Do you know a Pinky Swett?” asked Mrs. Dinneford, abruptly.
Mrs. Hoyt—so we must now call her—betrayed surprise at this question, and was about answering “No,” but checked herself and gave a half-hesitating “Yes,” adding the question, “What about her?”
Before Mrs. Dinneford could reply, however, Mrs. Hoyt took hold of her arm and said, “Come up to my room. Walls have ears sometimes, and I will not answer for these.”
Mrs. Dinneford went with her up stairs to a chamber in the rear part of the building.
“We shall be out of earshot here,” said Mrs. Hoyt as she closed the door, locking it at the same time. “And now tell me what's up, and what about Pinky Swett.”
“You know her?”
“Yes, slightly.”
“More than slightly, I guess.”
Mrs. Hoyt's eyes flashed impatiently. Mrs. Dinneford saw it, and took warning.