“Of course,” he answered, “but you can’t tell anything from them. What did you think of it?”
“I was surprised.”
“Surprised?”
“Yes.”
“What at?”
“At you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
A heavy silence fell, and Emily sat there, her eyes on the silver sugar bowl she slowly fitted to a design in the tablecloth. Her lips, though, were set, and Garwood, stealing a glance at them, moved uneasily. Here was the first of his constituents he must reckon with.
“Well, Pusey’ll make a good postmaster,” he ventured at last, seeing that she was not likely to speak.