“Worse than a dog-kennel.”
“What does all this mean?” demanded Mrs. Dinneford, with repressed excitement. “Why have you so kept on the track of this baby, when you knew I wished it lost sight of?”
“I had my own reasons,” replied Mrs. Bray. “One doesn't know what may come of an affair like this, and it's safe to keep well up with it.”
Mrs. Dinneford bit her lips till the blood almost came through. A faint rustle of garments in the hall caused her to start. An expression of alarm crossed her face.
“Go now,” she said, hurriedly, to her visitor; “I will call and see you this afternoon.”
Mrs. Bray quietly arose, saying, as she did so, “I shall expect you,” and went away.
There was a menace in her tone as she said, “I shall expect you,” that did not escape the ears of Mrs. Dinneford.
Edith was in the hall, at some distance from the parlor door. Mrs. Bray had to pass her as she went out. Edith looked at her intently.
“Who is that woman?” she asked, confronting her mother, after the visitor was gone.
“If you ask the question in a proper manner, I shall have no objection to answer,” said Mrs. Dinneford, with a dignified and slightly offended air; “but my daughter is assuming rather, too much.”