Hartley, if that suited you--"
"Wortley, my name is Wortley," the young man interrupted, hastily.
Luella looked puzzled.
"Wortley?" she repeated, "why, that's--well, never mind, it's none
o' my business. I cert'nly thought she said Hartley, though. Well,
if you'n Mrs. Wortley _can_ wait till ha' past eight--"
"Frank, dear," the girl broke in appealingly, but the young man
shook his head.
"No, darling," he said firmly, and then looking straight at Luella,
he went on: "This lady's name is Hartley. We are not--we are not
related."
Luella stared blankly at him a moment, then turned to the girl. But
she, though she got up from her seat and going over to the young man
seized his hand and pressed it between her own, did not lift her
eyes to the woman's troubled and accusing gaze.
Luella drew a long breath, took off her checked apron and rolled it
mechanically into a bundle. Her face had hardened; only the
shrewdness was left in her eyes.
"You might 'a told me so before," she said briefly, and turned on
her heel.
The girl was crying on his shoulder. "Tell her, Frank, please tell
her why," she begged, through her sobs.
Luella faced her sternly. "He needn't trouble to tell me why,"
she said, "I know more'n you think, maybe.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150