She was the quietest and the stupidest person in the house, and she ruled both the others; she was the least scrupulous, and they exalted her “goodness”; she did nothing well, and continually they praised her for her wonderful housekeeping. Enigma; extraordinary Minnie, quintessence of womanliness—in Heaven’s name, who is to sit in judgment on you?
III
In the autumn the old lady was permitted to go downstairs once a day, and on the first of these occasions, Mr. Petersen came with a gift of fruit which he had bought in New York. Frances had told him of the old lady’s improvement and he wanted, so he said, to congratulate her. He came as usual on his horse, and Mrs. Defoe, who was sitting by the parlour window, was the first to see him. She frowned.
“Silly nonsense!” she said, half aloud. “A carpenter, capering round the country like a fine gentleman!”
(A carpenter she had decided to consider him.)
He came in; his face and hands looked redder than ever, and he was frankly wiping his forehead with a huge handkerchief.
“Well!” he said cheerfully, “I’m very glad to see you so much better, Mrs. Defoe.”
“Thank you, Mr. Petersen,” she replied, demurely.
“We’re likely to have a mild winter, I believe,” he went on, “from all indications——”
He rose as Minnie came in, grave, like one interrupted in the midst of important work, but mindful of the duties of hospitality.