It seemed to her that she could not bear it. She could not watch Maude, with her shining eyes and her flushed cheeks, looking at the man who returned only a kindly, grown-up smile—the man who did not find Maude’s sweet youth “interesting,” but turned to herself instead. She remembered how he had looked at her, how his voice had sounded, speaking to her; and that look and that tone should have been for Maude.
“I won’t have it!” cried Miss Carter aloud, in an angry, trembling voice.
She felt a tear warm on her cheek, and she dashed it away, leaving a smudge under her eye.
“There I was,” she said, “all dressed up, sitting on the porch as if—well, it won’t be like that this time! It was that dress—I always hated that dress! Oh, Maude, my dear!”
She felt other tears in her eyes, but she ignored them.
“It won’t be like that this time!” she repeated with a grim smile. “You’ll see!”
She went out into the back entry and opened the ice box.
“Plenty good enough!” she said. “It won’t take me half an hour to get it ready. Now I’m going to finish that weeding!”
Certainly Mr. Rhodes wouldn’t bother her. He could come if he liked. There was plenty of good, wholesome food in the house for him to eat; but not one extra touch would she give to the dinner, and not one extra touch to her own appearance. She would have to wash her hands and face and put on a clean dress, but not until after he arrived. First he should see her just as she was.
“As is where is!” said Miss Carter.