"What's on your mind, Lilly? We don't need to be bashful together any more. We're married women."
Lilly rose then, moving toward the dresser, drawing the large tortoise-shell pins from the smooth coil of her hair.
"If you want me to go to the meat market with you, mamma, I'd better be dressing before it gets any hotter."
"You're too warm, Lilly. I'll go myself. You can learn the beef cuts later."
"I would rather stay at home and practice awhile. I haven't touched the piano since—"
"Tack up your shelf paper while I'm gone, Lilly—your cupboards look so bare—and then come over to lunch with me and we'll go to the euchre together. It's your first afternoon at the Junior Matrons and I want you to look your best. Wear your flowered dimity."
"If you don't mind, mamma, I want to unpack my music this afternoon and get my books straightened. I'd rather not go."
"The nerve! And that poor little Mrs. Wempner goes to extra trouble in your honor. I hear she's to have pennies attached to the tally cards. Pretty idea, pennies for Penny. Well, I'm not going to worry my life away! Work it out your own way. I'll send you home a steak and some quinine from the drug store for Albert to take to-night."
Presently Lilly heard the lower door slam. It came down across her nerves like the descent of a cleaver.
For another hour she sat immovable. A light storm had come up with summer caprice, thunder without lightning, and a thin fall of rain that hardly laid the dust. There was a certain whiteness to the gloom, indicating the sun's readiness to pierce it, but a breeze had sprung up, fanning the Swiss curtains in against Lilly's cheek, and across the street she could see her mother's shades fly up and windows open to the refreshment of it.