"What did the doctor say?"
"That it was to be expected under the circumstances," interposed Emily. "He thought it better for mother not to go to the missionary society tonight."
This was ominous news. Janet recollected that her mother had not missed a missionary meeting in two years.
The pause was filled with a battery of silent criticism. Usually Janet dispersed these terrible silences with a torrent of impromptu apologies. Today, however, she held her peace. Though every muscle in her body was taut, she felt care-free.
Yes, at this supreme inquisitorial moment, she felt surprisingly care-free. Except that, in response to Emily's allusion to missionaries, an old jingle ricochetted weirdly through her mind. It ran:
Oh, to be a cassowary,
On the plains of Timbuctoo,
Chewing up a missionary—
Skin and bone, and hymn book, too.
Outwardly, she was as impassive as a Chinese joss.
"Well, Janet?" said Mrs. Barr, outfought with one of her own weapons.
"Yes, mother?" replied Janet, demurely interrogative. She folded her hands innocently in her lap, and looked with a show of impersonal interest at Emily's new pumps.
"Have you nothing to tell me?"