In the interval of silence Mrs. Cromwell muttered, “I think so” to herself. The maid wasn’t certain;—that was bad; for it might indicate a state of prostration.
“Yes?” said the little voice in the telephone. “Is it Mrs. Cromwell?”
Mrs. Cromwell with a great effort assumed her most smiling and reassuring expression. “Amelia? Is it you, Amelia?”
“Yes.”
“I just wanted to tell you again what a lovely impression your essay made on me, dear. I’ve been thinking of it ever since, and I felt you might like to know it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cromwell.”
“Lydia Dodge and I kept on talking about it after you left us this afternoon,” Mrs. Cromwell continued, beaming fondly upon the air above the telephone. “We both said we thought it was the best paper ever read at the club. I—I just wondered if—if Lydia called you up to tell you so, too. Did she?”
“No. No, she didn’t call me up.”
“Oh, didn’t she? I just thought she might have because she was so enthusiastic.”
“No. She didn’t.”