“Pity’s sake!—what?” asked Cousin Sarah Cray, in alarm. Poor Cousin Sarah dealt in interjections. But it might be added that she had lived through times that were exclamatory.
“Our old friend, Roland Pettigru, is dead, Sarah; the news comes to us in this—this Sheet, which, I am told, is published here.” He drew a small newspaper from his pocket. “With your permission, ladies, I will read to you the opening sentence of an obituary notice which this—this Sheet—has prepared for the occasion.” He put on his spectacles, and, holding the paper off at a distance, read aloud, with slow, indignant enunciation, as follows: “‘The Great Reaper has descended amongst us. And this time he has carried back with him sadly brilliant sheaves; for his arrows have been shot at a shining mark’ (arrows for a reaper!” commented the judge, surveying his audience squintingly, over his glasses), "‘and the aim has been only too true. Gaunt Sorrow stalks abroad, we mourn with Pettigru Hill; we say—and we repeat—that the death of Roland Pettigru has left a vortex among us.’ Yes, vortex, ladies;—the death of a quiet, cultivated gentleman a vortex!”
At this moment Deely, the house-maid, appeared at the door; giving her calico skirt a twist by way of “manners,” she announced, “Miss Wungfy.”
Miss Leontine entered, carrying five books standing in a row upon her left arm as though it had been a shelf. She shook hands with Cousin Sarah Cray and Eve; then she went through the same ceremony with the judge, but in a confused, downcast manner, and seated herself on a slippery ottoman as near as possible to the door.
“I hope you liked the books? Pray let me take them,” said Eve, for Miss Leontine was still balancing them against her breast.
“Literature?” remarked the judge, who also seemed embarrassed. He took up one of the volumes and opened it. “Ah, a novel.”
“Yes, but one that will not hurt you,” Eve answered. “For Miss Leontine prefers those novels where the hero and heroine are married to begin with, and then fall in love with each other afterwards; everything on earth may happen to them during this process—poisonings and murders and shootings; she does not mind these in the least, for it’s sure in any case to be moral, don’t you see, because they were married in the beginning. And marriage makes everything perfectly safe; doesn’t it, Miss Leontine?”
“I am sure I don’t know,” answered Miss Leontine, still a prey to nervousness; “but—but I have always supposed so. Yes. We read them aloud,” she added, turning for relief to Cousin Sarah Cray; “that is, I read to Polly—in the evenings.”
“These modern novels seem to me poor productions,” commented the judge, turning over the pages of the volume he had taken.
“Naturally,” responded Eve.