"Yes, spoils the set of course. You are not insinuating anyone here might be superstitious? I am awfully sorry you broke the mirror. How did it happen?"
"Sissh!" Dozia sibilated, pointing to Judith who had actually turned over. "Don't wake her, this really is a secret. Girlie," dragging Jane down into a chair, "have you noticed that ugly, fat, common country girl, with the wire hair and gimlet eyes? Well, she came in, pushed her way in really, and squatted down plumb in my best Sheraton chair. The size of her!" (This with seething indignation.) "I was so provoked—why, Jane, what is the matter? You are frightened or nervous or something. Have you seen a ghost anywhere?" broke off Dozia.
"Oh no, but I am so tired," Jane edged away from the suspector.
"After all I do believe Judy is sensible, see her slumber."
"Jane Allen, you are a fraud," pronounced the girl in the velveteen robe. "You are smothering some mystery and I must have stepped on the spring," guessed the inquisitive caller. "Was it the tack hammer or the spindle chair or the fat girl? Not she, you have had no chance to do uplift work yet. Land knows that farmer will need your greatest skill, but dear, don't waste it on her. She's incurable."
"Bad as all that?" asked Jane colorlessly. "But what happened? You did not try to hit her with the hammer I hope?"
"I didn't try to hit her, I did hit her. It fell accidentally on her fat head and she tossed it through the mirror. Now what can a girl do in a case like that?"
The haunted look, so foreign to the face of Jane, shaped itself again.
"Is she—did you hurt her?"
"I hope so," dared Dozia. "It would be a charity to send her home.
Her name is Shirley Duncan and she's from some country town. But
Jane, if she gets really horrid, I mean more horrid than she is now,
I want you to stand by me. That's what I came for."
"All right Dozia," said Jane, "but I hope it won't have to go as far as that."