who did the Sistine Madonna or the Flight into Egypt.
The voice of Jimmy interrupted her thoughts. "Aren't we nearly home? I'm hungry!"
"Yes, dearie. That's your house right there. . . . See the one with the red light in the window?"
"I don't like Aunt Em. I wish she'd go away."
"Shh! Jimmy! Shh! He's tired, Em, that's all—the poor little thing."
They reached the house with the red light in the window, and bade each other good-night.
"Remember what I said," was Emma's final word.
After she left the gate, only one thought occupied the mind of Emma, the thought that it was Mary Conyngham who had stolen Philip from them both—from herself and Naomi. "Mary Conyngham, of course," she told herself. "What a fool I've been not to think of her before! It would be like her and her superior ways. The Watts always thought nobody good enough for 'em but the Shanes—that bawdy old woman and her two daughters—one a lunatic and the other a harlot. Yes, Mary Conyngham could carry on to her heart's content there in the Flats, and no one would know of it. The Shanes would only help her. Shane's Castle had been like a bawdy-house in the days when old John Shane was still living."
She was in a savage humor, born partly of her irritation at Naomi's helplessness, and partly of disgust at Mabelle's feeble-minded chatter; and now she had found an object on which to pin it. It was Mary Conyngham who lay at the root of everything: it explained why Mary had stopped her that day to ask about Philip.
