Then I took my stand soberly in front of the mantelpiece and regarded the two figures with much attention.
"Grandma," I said once, "do you think that they can be relations?"
Grandmother took up a stitch in her knitting without replying.
"Because, if they are," I went on, indignantly, "I think that they ought to be ashamed!"
"Ashamed of what, Rhoda?"
"Why, of the way that they act. They don't even look at each other! And, grandma, I think that he's the worst. He goes in with such a click when she comes out. He's so afraid that she'll say something to him."
Grandmother looked up over her spectacles.
"Now that I come to think of it," she said, "they've acted that way for forty years."
"I wonder why he don't like her?" I went on, musingly. "Is it because she's got flowers in her bonnet, and he hasn't? Look, grandma, she's coming out very quietly. She's going to catch him this time. Oh, he's gone in with a click! And he never said a word!"