“Yes-both because she’s got it, and because she’s afraid she’ll lose it. That doesn’t sound logical, I know, but Flora isn’t being logical just now. To begin with, she hasn’t the least idea how to spend money. Under my careful guidance, however, she has bought her a few new dresses—though they’re dead black—”
“Black!” interrupted the man.
“Yes, she’s put on mourning,” smiled Miss Maggie, as he came to a dismayed stop. “She would do it. She declared she wouldn’t feel half decent unless she did, with that poor man dead, and giving her all that money.”
“But he isn’t dead—that is, they aren’t sure he’s dead,” amended Mr. Smith hastily.
“But Flora thinks he is. She says he must be, or he would have appeared in time to save all that money. She’s very much shocked, especially at Hattie, that there is so little respect being shown his memory. So she is all the more determined to do the best she can on her part.”
“But she—she didn’t know him, so she can’t—er—really mourn for him,” stammered the man. There was a most curious helplessness on Mr. Smith’s face.
“No, she says she can’t really mourn,” smiled Miss Maggie again, “and that’s what worries her the most of anything—because she can’t mourn, and when he’s been so good to her—and he with neither wife nor chick nor child to mourn for him, she says. But she’s determined to go through the outward form of it, at least. So she’s made herself some new black dresses, and she’s bought a veil. She’s taken Mr. Fulton’s picture (she had one cut from a magazine, I believe), and has had it framed and, hung on her wall. On the mantel beneath it she keeps fresh flowers always. She says it’s the nearest she can come to putting flowers on his grave, poor man!”
“Good Heavens!” breathed Mr. Smith, falling limply into a chair.
“And she doesn’t go anywhere, except to church, and for necessary errands.”
“That explains why I haven’t seen her. I had wondered where she was.”