"Got out of the wrong side of the bed, didn't you?" Edith asked.
"Willy's bed, I suppose. I'm not hungry, and I always eat breakfast
like this. I wish he would hurry. We'll be late."
Ellen stared. It was her first knowledge that this girl, this
painted hussy, worked in Willy's pharmacy, and her suspicions
increased. She had a quick vision, as she had once had of Lily,
of Edith in the Cameron house; Edith reading or embroidering on the
front porch while Willy's mother slaved for her; Edith on the same
porch in the evening, with all the boys in town around her. She
knew the type, the sort that set an entire village by the ears and
in the end left home and husband and ran away with a traveling
salesman.
Ellen had already got Willy married and divorced when Mrs. Boyd
came in. She carried the milk pail, but her lips were blue and she
sat down in a chair and held her hand to her heart.
"I'm that short of breath!" she gasped. "I declare I could hardly
get back."
"I'll give you some coffee, right off."
When Willy Cameron had finished his breakfast she followed him into
the parlor. His pallor was not lost on her, or his sunken eyes.
He looked badly fed, shabby, and harassed, and he bore the marks of
his sleepless night on his face.
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