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Updated: June 20, 2025
And she drew out her pocket-book while speaking. At this moment there came two distinct raps on the door. It had been locked after Mrs. Dinneford's entrance. Mrs. Bray started and changed countenance, turning her face quickly from observation. But she was self-possessed in an instant. Rising, she said in a whisper, "Go silently into the next room, and remain perfectly still.
Dinneford's suspicions had been aroused by many things in Edith's manner and conduct of late, and she had watched her every look and word and movement with a keenness of observation that let nothing escape. Careful as her husband and daughter were in their interviews, it was impossible to conceal anything from eyes that never failed in watchfulness.
"If I could only get her in my power, I'd make short works of her." Her eyes flashed with a cruel light. "It might be done." "How?" "Mr. Dinneford knows the chief of police." The light went out of Mrs. Dinneford's eyes: "It can't be done in that way, and you know it as well as I do." Mrs. Dinneford turned upon Mrs. Bray sharply, and with a gleam of suspicion in her face.
The meeting between the two women was not over-gracious, but in keeping with their relations to each other. Mrs. Dinneford was half angry and impatient; Mrs. Bray cool and self-possessed. "And now what is it you have to say?" asked the former, almost as soon as she had entered. "The woman to whom you gave that baby was here yesterday." A frightened expression came into Mrs. Dinneford's face. Mrs.
A yearning instinct of womanhood, long repressed by worldliness and a mean social ambition, made her crave at times the love she had cast away, and then her cup of life was very bitter. But fear of Mr. Dinneford's influence over Edith was stronger than any jealousy of his love. She had high views for her daughter. In her own marriage she had set aside all considerations but those of social rank.
A different man one of stronger will and a more imperious spirit would have held his own, even though it wrought bitterness and sorrow. But Mr. Dinneford's aversion to strife, and gentleness toward every one, held him away from conflict, and so his home was at least tranquil. Mrs. Dinneford had her own way, and so long as her husband made no strong opposition to that way all was peaceful.
"She did not know my name you assured me of that. It was one of the stipulations." "She does know, and your daughter's name also. And she knows where the baby is. She's deeper than I supposed. It's never safe to trust such people; they have no honor." Fear sent all the color out of Mrs. Dinneford's face. "What does she want?" "Money." "She was paid liberally." "That has nothing to do with it.
As the latter released her she extended her hand, saying, in a low resolute voice, in which not the faintest thrill of anger could be detected, "Take your money." She waited for a moment, and then let the little roll of bank-bills fall at Mrs. Dinneford's feet and turned away. Mrs.
Dinneford could not wait. At seventeen she was thrust into society, set up for sale to the highest bidder, her condition nearer that of a Circassian than a Christian maiden, with her mother as slave-dealer. So it was and so, it is. You may see the thing every day. But it did not come out according to Mrs. Dinneford's programme.
"Oh, mother, bring me my baby. I shall die if you do not!" "Your baby is in heaven," said Mrs. Dinneford, softening her voice to a tone of tender regret. Edith caught her breath, grew very white, and then, with a low, wailing cry that sent a shiver through Mrs. Dinneford's heart, fell back, to all appearance dead.
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