After Maude had gone, she wrote the letter. She told Mr. Rhodes that she and her niece would be very pleased to see him next Sunday afternoon, and she said that the “best” train was one that arrived at their station about three o’clock.
How could the truthful Miss Carter write such a letter? How could she say that Maude would be glad to see Mr. Rhodes when she never told Maude a word about his coming? How could she call a train a “best” train that stopped at every tiniest station, and that arrived, moreover, at a time when Maude would not be at home? But she did say all this, and was not even ashamed of it.
And then, right under Maude’s nose, she prepared a supper which utterly surpassed the previous dinner; and when the poor, unsuspicious girl had gone off to the Sunday school where she taught a class, Miss Carter flew upstairs, put on the crêpe de Chine dress, arranged her hair in a new fashion, and just had time to get down to the veranda when Mr. Rhodes appeared.
She kept on in the same deplorably artful manner. Although she was still a little out of breath from her struggle with the dress, she pretended to be so deeply absorbed in the magazine she had just that moment snatched up that she didn’t hear him coming up the path. There she sat, looking calm, serene, almost queenly.
As he mounted the steps, she glanced up with a mendacious air of surprise, and rose, smiling, very polite, but still queenly.
“Oh, Mr. Rhodes!” she said. “This is very nice! Sit down, won’t you?”
He did so, and Miss Carter began her campaign. She said she was sorry Maude wasn’t at home, but nothing could induce that girl to miss her Sunday school class.
“She’s so conscientious!” Miss Carter said, and told him several anecdotes about Maude’s conscientiousness.
Then she told him how devoted the children in the class were to Maude. There was no pretense about Miss Carter now. She was speaking from her heart, telling him what she knew to be the truth about her dear girl, pleading Maude’s cause with dignity and sincerity. This man, this wooden Indian, must be made to realize what Maude was!
Miss Carter watched him pretty closely, but it did her no good, for it was impossible to tell from his face what impression she was making. He just listened. She waited for him to ask questions about Maude, but he did not. After awhile she grew indignant, and spoke no more. He, too, fell silent, and there they sat.