“Then take these papers to her, and ask if she will please be so good as to examine their claims to her charity. In the meantime I will wait in the parlor, and must trouble you for a glass of water.”
She thrust the petitions into Elsie’s hand, and attempted to slip into the hall, through the partial opening of the door which the servant held during the parley; but, planting her massive frame directly in the way, the resolute woman effectually barred entrance, and, pointing to an iron tête-à-tête on the portico, said, decisively,—
“I beg pardon, madam, but you will find a seat there; and I will bring the water while Mrs. Gerome reads your letters. If you are fatigued, I will hand you luncheon and some wine.”
Mortified and enraged, Mrs. Spiewell grew scarlet, but threw herself into the seat designated, resolved to snatch a glimpse of the interior the instant the servant had disappeared.
Very softly Elsie closed and securely latched the door on the inside, knowing that at that moment her mistress was sitting in the oriel window of the front parlor.
In vain the visitor tried and twisted the bolt, and, completely baffled, tears of chagrin moistened her eyes. She had scarcely time to regain her seat, when Elsie reappeared, bearing on a handsome salver a wine-glass, silver goblet, and an elegant basket filled with cake.
“Mrs. Gerome presents her compliments, and sends you this fifty dollar bill for whatever society you represent.”
Too thoroughly discomfited to conceal her pique and indignation, Mrs. Spiewell snatched letters and donation, and, without lingering an instant, swept haughtily down the steps, 141 “shaking off the dust of her feet” against “Solitude” and its incorrigible owner.
An innocent impertinence once coldly frustrated soon takes unto itself a sting and branding-irons, and thus, what was originally merely idle curiosity, becomes bitter malice; and henceforth the worthy minister’s gossiping wife lost no opportunity of inveighing against the superciliousness of the stranger, and of insinuating that some very extraordinary circumstances led her “to fear that something was radically wrong about that poor Mrs. Gerome, for troubles that could not be poured into the sympathetic ears of pastors and of pastors’ wives must be very dark, indeed.”
Whenever the name of the new-comer was mentioned, Mrs. Spiewell compressed her lips, shook her head, and shrugged her round shoulders; and, of course, persons present surmised that the “minister’s lady” was acquainted with melancholy facts which charity prevented her from divulging.