“Mr. Marasca is going by the train, he’ll have to have a little cold meat,” said Alvina. “Would you mind putting it ready while I go upstairs?”
“Sharpses and Fullbankses sent them bills,” said Mrs. Rollings. Alvina opened them, and turned pale. It was thirty pounds, the total funeral expenses. She had completely forgotten them.
“And Mr. Atterwell wants to know what you’d like put on th’ headstone for your father—if you’d write it down.”
“All right.”
Mrs. Rollings popped on the potatoes for Miss Pinnegar’s dinner, and spread the cloth for Ciccio. When he was eating, Miss Pinnegar came in. She inquired for Alvina—and went upstairs.
“Have you had your dinner?” she said. For there was Alvina sitting writing a letter.
“I’m going by a later train,” said Alvina.
“Both of you?”
“No. He’s going now.”
Miss Pinnegar came downstairs again, and went through to the scullery. When Alvina came down, she returned to the living room.