A little breath of red crept into the withered cheeks of the miserly old man. “Well, well!” he ejaculated. “One can’t be too careful.”
“And if the gal had known the money was there she might have been tempted, ye see.”
Jess flushed again and Griff looked angry; but Mrs. Prentice said, coolly:
“Were _you_ tempted, sir? Perhaps I had better count my money, after all?”
“Ahem! ahem!” coughed the old gentleman. “Perhaps you don’t know who I am? There is a vast difference between me—my condition, I mean—and the gal and her mother.”
“Ah! Do you think so?” asked Mrs. Prentice, and then turned her back upon him. “I should like to know you better, my dear—and your mother. I hope you will show me that I am really forgiven by allowing me to call some day——Oh! I couldn’t face your mother now. I know just how I would feel myself if I had a daughter who had been accused as I accused you. I certainly need to take care—as our friend here says.”
“I am sure mother would be pleased to meet you,” stammered Jess.
“You know, I am Mrs. Prentice. My brother-in-law, Patrick Sarsfield Prentice, is editor and proprietor of the Centerport _Courier_.”
Jess’s interest was doubly aroused now. So _this_ was the rich Mrs. Prentice, whom they said really backed Centerport’s newest venture in the newspaper field?
“My mother has met Mr. Prentice—your brother-in-law,” she said, diffidently. “You know, mother writes. She is Mary Morse.”
“Ah, yes,” said the lady, preparing to follow Griff out. “I am really glad to have known you—but I am sorry we began our acquaintance so unfortunately.”
“That—that is all right, Mrs. Prentice,” returned the girl.
Griff called back goodnight to her over his shoulder. And at the gate he parted from the lady whose carelessness had made all the trouble.
“That’s just what I told you, Mrs. Prentice,” he said. “They’re all right folks, those Morses. Yes, Mrs. Prentice, I’ll remember to send all those things you ordered over in the morning—first delivery,” and he went off, whistling.
Mrs Prentice would have turned away from the gate of the Morse cottage and gone her homeward way, too, had she not heard a cackling little “ahem!” behind her. There was the wizened Mr. Chumley right on her heels.