"She had to be begged powerful," said the visitor. "I never in all my life heard such pleading. Part of the time he'd scold her and reproach her with not caring for him like he did for her. Then he'd accuse her of being suspicious of him, even when he was trying his level best to help her out of trouble. Finally, he got to talking about how folks died, slow-like, from cancers, and what her real duty was to her mother. It was then that she give in. I know she did, though I didn't hear what she said, for he laughed out sudden, and gladlike, and I heard him kiss her and begin over again, about how happy they were going to be and the like. I reckon, Ann, he really does mean to marry her."
"I reckon so," Ann said. "I reckon so. Such things have been known to happen."
"Well, we'll wait and see what comes of it," said Mrs. Waycroft. "Anyway, Jane will get her cancer-money, and that's all she cares for. They say she's in agony day and night, driving Virginia distracted. I'm sorry for that pore little thing. I don't like her mammy, for treating you as she has so long and persistent, but I can't hold Virginia accountable."
Ann shrugged her broad shoulders. There was a twinkling light of dawning triumph in each of her non-committal eyes, and unwonted color in her cheeks, all of which escaped the widow's notice.
"Well, that wasn't the end," she said, tentatively.
"I couldn't hear any more, Ann. They walked on. I stood up and watched them as they went on through the bushes, arm in arm, towards her home. I'm sure he loves her. Anybody would know it that heard him talk; besides she is pretty—you know that, Ann. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen anywhere. They looked fine, too, walking side by side. They say he's a spendthrift and got bad habits, but maybe his folks will be glad to have him settle down with such a sensible girl if she is poor. She'll keep him straight. I'd rather nothing is said about where Jane's money is coming from, Ann. That seems to be their secret, and I have no right to circulate it."
"I'll not talk it," Ann said. "It will be safe with me."
When the widow had left, Ann became a changed creature in outward appearance. She stood on the porch till her guest had disappeared in the dusk, and then she paced the floor of her sitting-room in a spasm of ecstasy, now and then shaken by a hearty laugh.
"I see through him," she chuckled. "He is trying to ease his dirty conscience by paying money down. It's a slick trick—on a par with a promise to marry. He's telling his filthy soul that he's saving her mother's life. The girl's as blind as a bat—the average woman can only see one thing at a time; she's simply bent on getting that money, and thinks of nothing else. But, Jane Hemingway—old lady—I've got you where I want you at last. It won't be long before your forked tongue will be tied fast in a knot. You can't keep on after me publicly for what is in your own dirty flesh. And when you know the truth you'll know, too, that it all come about to save your worthless life. You'll get down on your knees then and beg the Lord to have mercy on you. Maybe you'll remember all you've done against me from your girl-days till now as you set with your legs dangling in the grave. Folks will shun your house, too, unless you rid it of contagion. But you bet I'll call. I'll send in my card. Me'n' you'll be on a level then, and we'll owe it to the self-same high and mighty source."
Ann suddenly felt a desire for the open air, as if the very walls of her house checked the pleasurable out-pourings of her triumph, and she went outside and strode up and down in the yard, fairly aflame with joy. All at once she paused; she was confronting the sudden fear that she might be fired by a false hope. Virginia, it was true, had agreed to go to Chester's at the appointed hour, but might she not, in calmer moments, when removed from Langdon's persistent influence, think better of it and stay at home? Ah, yes, there was the chance that the girl might fail to keep the appointment, and then—