"I reckon he thought funny that I didn't come in to tell him good-bye,"
she said, with a knowing little laugh; "but I'll be bound he was glad I
didn't. Even Mr. Bradley had the good sense to go outside."
"Mother, what are you talking about?"
"You know mighty well what I mean," returned Mrs. Floyd, with a smile.
"I know Mr. Westerfelt is dead in love with you, and goodness knows you
couldn't fool me about how you feel if you tried. I was a girl once."
"Mother," said Harriet, "I never want you to mention him to me again,"
and she put her hands over her face and began to cry softly.
"Why, what is the matter, dear?" the old woman sat down near her
daughter, now alarmed by her conduct. Harriet stared her mother in the
face. "He knows all about it, mother--he knows I am not your child,
that nobody knows where I came from. Oh, mother, I can't stand it--I
simply cannot. I wanted him to know, and yet when he told me he knew,
it nearly killed me."
Mrs. Floyd turned pale. "There must be some mistake," she said; "no
one here knows it--and only one or two up in Tennessee.
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