But she came quickly back to the grave matter uppermost in her
mind. "Grandmother," she said, "I received a few days ago a letter
from Kate Osborn. In it she told me that there were stories in
circulation about Rowan. I have come home to find out what these
stories are. On the way from the station I stopped at Mrs.
Osborn's, and she told me. Grandmother, this is your work."
Mrs. Conyers pushed down the thumb of her glove.
"Have I denied it? But why do you attempt to deny that it is also
your work?"
Isabel sat regarding her with speechless, deepening horror. She
was not prepared for this revelation. Mrs. Conyers did not wait,
but pressed on with a certain debonair enjoyment of her advantage.
"You refused to recognize my right to understand a matter that
affected me and affected other members of the family as well as
yourself. You showed no regard for the love I had cherished for
you many a year. You put me aside as though I had no claim upon
your confidence--I believe you said I was not worthy of it; but my
memory is failing--perhaps I wrong you."
"It is _true_!" said Isabel, with triumphant joy in reaffirming it
on present grounds. "It is _true_!"
"Very well," said Mrs. Conyers, "we shall let that pass. It was of
consequence then; it is of no consequence now: these little
personal matters are very trivial. But there was a serious matter
that you left on my hands; the world always demands an explanation
of what it is compelled to see and cannot understand.
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