“Ah! that is it, eh?”
“Yes. An’ you bein’ a widow an’ havin’ to put all his blue blood in the tomb—when you hadn’t enjoyed it but a year an’ four month—we feel like it comforts you to remin’ you that, even if you come off a farm in Poplars Vale, your diseased husban’ didn’t. No, Sir! He come off of Henery Seven!”
An odd little squeak pierced through Rosamond’s damask napkin. It terminated hastily in a cough.
“May I ask, ma’am, when Mrs. Witherby stopped in here yesterday mornin’ did you happen to be wearin’ them white cuffs an’ collar with your lavender ’stead of the black watered ribbon ones as you’ve worn for nigh a year?”
“Yes. Yes, Amanda, I believe I did have these on yesterday—for the first time in the daytime. You know I’ve worn all white with flowers—in the evening.”
“It’s doin’ it in broad daylight that causes remark. Oh, I’m not forgettin’ my place an’ criticizin’. It’s all correc’ enough. You done your eighteen months crape an’ one year plain, then your six month black’n white. Then come your year of lavender with black ribbons, an’ now it’s time for white or even light colours, if you’re desirous, an’ none should objec’. But Mrs. Witherby’s tongue is like a dog’s on a huntin’ mornin’; it’s that easy set to waggin’ an’ anticipatin’. Jemima, you it was overheard her remarks. Be so kin’ an’ repeat.”
Nothing loath, Jemima obliged.
“Mrs. Witherby says, says she, ‘well, you mark me,’ says she, ‘Mrs. Mearely will not remain long a widder. It’ll be Judge Giffen or Wilton Howard afore Christmas.’”
“Oh! the gossip!” Mrs. Mearely snapped indignantly. Amanda nodded sagely.
“It was them white muslin trimmin’s what done it,” she averred. “She says it afore her niece, Miss Mabel, who all Roseborough knows is jus’ a-pinin’ an’ a-languishin’ for Mr. Howard; and Miss Mabel she goes white as your napkin—which ain’t so white, but considerable eggy now you’ve had your sof’ boileds. I could a’ways tell your napkin from Mr. Hibbert Mearely’s wherever I’d pick ’em up—be it in church or tavern—for Mr. Mearely he could comfort his appetite without a smear. But, of course, he was born to refinements. Well, it’s too bad, ma’am, but gossip is what you mus’ expec’ from now henceforth.”