“Nonsense!!” said Mrs. Eastman decisively. “She would never think of taking a boy like him when she’d turned up her nose at better men. And I didn’t want her for a daughter-in-law, anyhow. I can’t bear her. So I put my foot down in time. Lawrence sulked for a spell, of course—boy fashion—and he’s been as fractious as a spoiled baby ever since.”
“Well, I dare say you’re right,” assented the dressmaker. “But I must say I had always imagined that Bessy had a great notion of Lawrence. Of course, she’s so quiet it is hard to tell. She never says a word about herself.”
There was an unsuspected listener to this conversation. Lawrence had come in from the field for a drink, and was standing in the open kitchen doorway, within easy earshot of the women’s shrill tones.
He had never doubted his mother’s word at any time in his life, but now he knew beyond doubt that there had been crooked work somewhere. He shrank from believing his mother untrue, yet where else could the crookedness come in?
When Mrs. Eastman had gone to the kitchen to prepare dinner Maggie Hatfield was startled by the appearance of Lawrence at the low, open window of the sitting room.
“Mercy me, how you scared me!” she exclaimed nervously.
“Maggie,” said Lawrence seriously, “I want to ask you a question. Did Bessy Houghton ever say anything to you about me or did you ever say that she did? Give me a straight answer.”
The dressmaker peered at him curiously.
“No. Bessy never so much as mentioned your name to me,” she said, “and I never heard that she did to any one else. Why?”
“Thank you. That was all I wanted to know,” said Lawrence, ignoring her question, and disappearing as suddenly as he had come.