Chapter X
“She wants me to give it up,” said Maiden.
In a little back bedroom at Blake’s, Suse had been whispering to the other girl of Danny, and showing, half-shyly, the trousseau made with such anxious labour. She smoothed a white frill with rough fingers, speaking absently.
“Why, dear?”
“Well—she says—do you think the bonnet’s so awful unbecoming, Suse?”
Suse shut a little smile into the drawer with the white frill.
“Trust a mother ter find out jest where ter tackle a gel,” she murmured. Then she looked over at Maiden’s face closed in the curve of her hands as a flower is closed in its sheath.
“Didn’t nobuddy ever tell yer as more than the Lassie bonnet weren’t becoming ter yer, Maiden?”
“Only Steve Derral—an’ he don’t count.”
“Don’t he? Since when?”
“Since always,” said Maiden, untruthfully.
“I ain’t seen him this month past. He’s up musterin’ somewheres out back, Danny says.”
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