Missy was glad the question had not been put to her; for, to have saved her life, she couldn't have answered it intelligibly. She was out of hearing too soon to catch her mother's answer:
“She's just worked up over the wedding, and being a flower-girl and all.”
“Well, I don't believe,” stated Aunt Nettie with the assurance that spinsters are wont to show in discussing such matters, “that it's good for children to let them work themselves up that way. She'll be as much upset as the bridegroom if Helen does back out.”
“Oh, I don't think old Mrs. Greenleaf would ever let her break it off, now” said Mrs. Merriam, stooping to pick up the papers which her husband had left strewn over the floor.
“She's hard as rocks,” agreed Aunt Nettie.
“Though,” Mrs. Merriam went on, “when it's a question of her daughter's happiness—”
“A little unhappiness would serve Helen Green leaf right,” commented the other tartly. “She's spoiled to death and a flirt. I think it was a lucky day for young Doc Alison when she jilted him.”
“She's just young and vain,” championed Mrs. Merriam, carefully folding the papers and laying them in the rack. “Any pretty girl in Helen's position couldn't help being spoiled. And you must admit nothing's ever turned her head—Europe, or her visits to Cleveland, or anything.”
“The Cleveland man is handsome,” said Aunt Nettie irrelevantly—the Cleveland man was the bridegroom-elect.
“Yes, in a stylish, sporty kind of way. But I don't know—” She hesitated a moment, then concluded: “Missy doesn't like him.”