This seemed to give me a good opportunity of moderating her "hopes," in mercy to her daughter and to herself.
"I thought it undesirable to mention the subject—for the present, at least," I answered. "There is a serious difference of opinion between Mrs. Wagner and Mr. Keller, on a subject connected with the management of the office here. I say serious, because they are both equally firm in maintaining their convictions. Mr. Keller has written to my aunt by yesterday's post; and I fear it may end in an angry correspondence between them."
I saw that I had startled her. She suddenly drew her chair close to mine.
"Do you think the correspondence will delay your aunt's departure from England?" she asked.
"On the contrary. My aunt is a very resolute person, and it may hasten her departure. But I am afraid it will indispose her to ask any favors of Mr. Keller, or to associate herself with his personal concerns. Any friendly intercourse between them will indeed be impossible, if she asserts her authority as head-partner, and forces him to submit to a woman in a matter of business."
She sank back in her chair. "I understand." she said faintly.
While we had been talking, Minna had walked to the window, and had remained there looking out. She suddenly turned round as her mother spoke.
"Mamma! the landlady's little boy has just gone out. Shall I tap at the window and call him back?"
The widow roused herself with an effort. "What for, my love?" she asked, absently.
Minna pointed to the mantelpiece. "To take your letter to Mr. Engelman, mamma." Madame Fontaine looked at the letter—paused for a moment—and answered, "No, my dear; let the boy go. It doesn't matter for the present."