Eleanor stood still, her figure straight, one hand pressing the thick coil of her dark hair close to her head, the other holding a long pin. Her hair was drawn back closely; the unsoftened line of her forehead and cheek changed her expression, gave her a different and austere cast of countenance. She stood motionless, regarding herself absently until her arms dropped. It was Dr. Green, of course, who had long ago scolded her mother!
Downstairs Green's voice rose and fell, rose and fell. There was the heat of anger in it, there was a tone of command, there was no softer tone.
But Eleanor no longer heard. Again she gathered her hair back from her face and stood looking at herself. She saw the single line of austerity; she turned her head now this way, now that. Then she sat down once more on the edge of her bed.
For more than an hour she watched the ticking clock. It was half-past two when Dr. Green's first angry sentence fell upon the quiet air; it was four when he closed the door behind him.
When at last she went downstairs, her mother had gone into the garden. Mrs. Bent came in and put the supper on the table slowly, and called Eleanor. When supper was eaten and the dishes put away, she joined her daughter on the porch.
"I have something I must tell you," said she. "I—"
Eleanor sprang up in panic.
"I can't stop now, mother. I must go for the mail. I have important mail coming. I must go."
Mrs. Bent looked at her, then down at the floor. She twisted her hands together.
"All right."