him, as I’m workin’ now, Clara. The firm’s Lake, Snowdon, & Co.”
“Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“I don’t hardly know, my dear.”
She looked at him, aware that something was being kept back.
“Tell me about the girl, what does she do?”
“She goes to work, I believe; but I haven’t heard much about her since a good time. Sidney Kirkwood’s a friend of her grandfather. He often goes there, I believe.”
“What is she like?” Clara asked, after a pause. “She used to be such a weak, ailing thing, I never thought she’d grow up. What’s she like to look at?”
“I can’t tell you, my dear. I don’t know as ever I see her since those times.”
Again a silence.
“Then it’s Mr. Kirkwood that has told you what you know of her?”
“Why, no. It was chiefly Mrs. Peckover told me. She did say, Clara,—but then I can’t tell whether it’s true or not,—she did say something about Sidney and her.”
He spoke with difliculty, feeling constrained
