Mrs. James, who had been almost stunned by the terrible unrefinement of almost the whole of the foregoing scene, now started into agonised life and shuddered audibly. Mrs. Airey coloured all over her kindly face, and Mrs. Dunn flattened and shrank. Mrs. Tanner emitted a sudden twittering sound from her birdlike mouth. But it was Mrs. Clapham who answered the unspoken appeal, as indeed was her duty and her right.
“I thank you kindly, Martha Jane Fell,” she said in her sorrowful mother’s voice, “for what you’ve done for my Tibbie and me, and for my poor Tibbie’s motherless barns.... As for my currant bread,” she added gently, “as you’re good enough to say you’d like, I’ll be right pleased to send you a loaf out o’ my baking o’ next week.”
Once again, as at the table, across the Bible, the eyes of the two women met and locked. Once again it seemed as if some message passed between them, some mystical form of touch; and then without any warning Martha Jane burst into loud sobs. Holding her arm before her eyes, she turned and stumbled into the porch, and the long echo of her crying came to them faintly down the street....
When it had died away, Mrs. Tanner stirred briskly. Now that the storm was over, so to speak, she began preening her feathers and strutting about.
“And now you’ll just have your supper, Ann Clapham, and as sharp as may be!” she chirped smartly. “Set down again, if you please, and put up your poor leg!... Now, then, which on you folks is coming to stop the night?”
“Nay, I shan’t want nobody, thank ye,” Mrs. Clapham put in quickly, before the women could speak. “It’s right kind, it is that, but I’ll be best alone. I’ll own up I was feeling bad a while back, but I’m better now.”
For a while they protested, however, standing about and looking distressed, but Mrs. Clapham remained firm. She sat down as ordered, and put her foot on the tub, and at last the superfluous helpers drifted reluctantly towards the door.
“I’ll see t’ house is ready agen your coming back,” Mrs. Airey said in her kind voice, “and I’ll be glad to lend a hand wi’ t’ barns an’ all.”
“And I’ll see as there’s summat to eat for you,” added Mrs. Dunn. “I’ve some currant bread o’ my own, though I don’t say it’s a patch on yours.”
“I’ll bring you a grand bunch o’ flowers while morning,” was the charming finish of Mrs. James. “I always think there’s summat soothing about a real smart bunch o’ flowers.... Eh, but I’m sorry about yon almshouse, though,” she reverted, as she went out; “and nobody’ll be more put about when they hear it than Mr. Baines!”