“With a gang? What kind of a gang?” Mrs. Dinneford turned slightly pale.
“A gang of thieves. She isn't the right thing; I found that out long ago. You remember what I said when you gave her the child. I told you that she was not a good woman, and that it was a cruel thing to put a helpless, new-born baby into her hands.”
“Never mind about that.” Mrs. Dinneford waved her hand impatiently. “The baby's out of her hands, so far as that is concerned. A gang of thieves!”
“Yes, I'm 'most sure of it. Goes to people's houses on one excuse and another, and finds out where the silver is kept and how to get in. You don't know half the wickedness that's going on. So you see it's no use trying to get her away.”
Mrs. Bray was watching the face of her visitor with covert scrutiny, gauging, as she did so, by its weak alarms, the measure of her power over her.
“Dreadful! dreadful!” ejaculated Mrs. Dinneford, with dismay.
“It's bad enough,” said Mrs. Bray, “and I don't see the end of it. She's got you in her power, and no mistake, and she isn't one of the kind to give up so splendid an advantage. I'm only surprised that she's kept away so long.”
“What's to be done about it?” asked Mrs. Dinneford, her alarm and distress increasing.
“Ah! that's more than I can tell,” coolly returned Mrs. Bray. “One thing is certain—I don't want to have anything more to do with her. It isn't safe to let her come here. You'll have to manage her yourself.”
“No, no, no, Mrs. Bray! You mustn't desert me!” answered Mrs. Dinneford, her face growing pallid with fear. “Money is of no account. I'll pay 'most anything, reasonable or unreasonable, to have her kept away.”