A day or two afterward, Edith asked her mother, with an abruptness that sent the color to her face, “Where was my baby buried?”
“In our lot at Fairview,” was replied, after a moment's pause.
Edith said no more, but on that very day, regardless of a heavy rain that was falling, went out to the cemetery alone and searched in the family lot for the little mound that covered her baby--searched, but did not find it. She came back so changed in appearance that when her mother saw her she exclaimed,
“I have been looking for my baby's grave and cannot find it,” she answered. “There is something wrong, mother. What was done with my baby? I must know.” And she caught her mother's wrists with both of her hands in a tight grip, and sent searching glances down through her eyes.
“Your baby is dead,” returned Mrs. Dinneford, speaking slowly and with a hard deliberation. “As for its grave--well, if you will drag up the miserable past, know that in my anger at your wretched _mesalliance_ I rejected even the dead body of your miserable husband's child, and would not even suffer it to lie in our family ground. You know how bitterly I was disappointed, and I am not one of the kind that forgets or forgives easily. I may have been wrong, but it is too late now, and the past may as well be covered out of sight.”
“Where, then, was my baby buried?” asked Edith, with a calm resolution of manner that was not to be denied.
“I do not know. I did not care at the time, and never asked.”
“I have forgotten the woman's name. All I know is that she is dead. When the child died, I sent her money, and told her to bury it decently.”
“I never knew precisely. Somewhere down town.”
“Who brought her here? who recommended her?” said Edith, pushing her inquiries rapidly.
“I have forgotten that also,” replied Mrs. Dinneford, maintaining her coldness of manner.
“My nurse, I presume,” said Edith. “I have a faint recollection of her--a dark little woman with black eyes whom I had never seen before. What was her name?”
“Bodine,” answered Mrs. Dinneford, without a moment's hesitation.
“She went to Havana with a Cuban lady several months ago.”
Edith questioned no further. The mother and daughter were still sitting together, both deeply absorbed in thought, when a servant opened the door and said to Mrs. Dinneford,