“But the truth,” persisted Claire.

“I tell the truth,” Mrs. Slawson returned with quiet dignity.  “I only don’t waste time on trifles.”

“It is not wasting time on trifles to be exact and accurate.  An architect planning a house must make every little detail true, else when the house goes up, it won’t stand.”

“Don’t he have to reckon nothin’ on the give or not-give of the things he’s dealin’ with?” demanded Martha.  “I’m only a ignorant woman, an’ I ask for information.  When you’re dress-makin’ you have to allow for the seams, an’ when you’re makin’—­well, other things, you have to do the same thing, only spelled a little different—­you have to allow for the seems.  Most folks don’t do it, an’ that’s where a lot o’ trouble comes in, or so it appears to me.”

Claire twisted her ring in silence, gazing down at it the while as if the operation was, of all others, the most important and absorbing.

“We may not agree, Martha dear,” she said at last, “but anyway I know you’re good, good, good, and I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for the world.”

“Shoor!  I know you wouldn’t!  An’ they ain’t hurt.  Not in the least.  You got one kinder conscience an’ I got another, that’s all.  Consciences is like hats.  One that suits one party would make another look like a guy.  You got to have your own style.  You got to know what’s best for you, an’ then stick to it!”

“And you won’t object if I tell Mr. Ronald?”

“Objeck?  Certainly not!  Tell’m anything you like. I always was fond o’ Mr. Ronald myself.  I never thought he was as hard an’ stern with a body as some thinks.  Some thinks he’s as hard as nails, but—­”

“O, I’m sure he’s not,” cried Claire with unexpected loyalty.  “His manner may seem a little cold and proud sometimes, but I know he’s very kind and generous.”

“Certaintly.  So do I know it,” said Mrs. Slawson.  “I don’t say I mayn’t be mistaken, but I have the highest opinion o’ Lor—­Mr. Ronald.  I think you could trust’m do the square thing, no matter what, an’ if he was kinder harsh doin’ it, it’s only because he expects a body to be perfect like he is himself.”

In the next room Sabina was shouting at the top of her lungs—­“Come back to ear-ring, my voornean, my voornean!”

“Ain’t it a caution what lungs that child has—­considerin’?” Martha reflected.  “Just hear her holler!  She’d wake the dead.  I wonder if she’s tryin’ to beat that auta whoopin’ it up outside.  Have you ever noticed them autas nowadays?  Some of them has such croupy coughs, before I know it I’m huntin’ for a flannen an’ a embrercation.  ’Xcuse me a minit while I go answer the bell.”

A second later she returned.  A step in advance of her was Mr. Ronald.

“I am lucky to find you at home, Martha,” were the first words Claire heard him say.

Martha, by dint of a little unobservable maneuvering, managed to superimpose her substantial shadow upon Claire’s frail one.