Joan crimsoned, then paled, but she lifted clear eyes of truth to Mrs. Bannister: “A lady.”
“What lady?”
“A lady.”
“But what is the lady's name?”
“I would rather not tell her name.”
Sarah looked at Lottie and spoke with lip motion: “Her mother.”
Even skeptical Lottie nodded. What so likely as that the broken-down minister's wife might do this exquisite work, and send her little daughter out to sell it?
Sarah was examining the tablecloth. “I am sure it is a little different from mine,” she reflected. “The bunch of daisies is larger.”
Lottie nodded. “Looks so to me.”
Sarah laid down the tablecloth and took up some knitted lace. “This is almost exactly the pattern of mine, and I did want to knit some for Daisy Hapgood. I am so glad to get this.”
The more Sarah Bannister bought, the
