Emmy Lou passed her luncheon around. Emmy Lou herself knew the joys of eating; and hers, too, was a hospitable soul. She brought liberal luncheons. On this day, between the disks of her beaten biscuit showed the pinkness of sliced ham.
Mary Agatha drew back; Mary Agatha was Emmy Lou’s newest friend. “It’s Friday,” said Mary Agatha.
“Of course,” said Rosalie, “I forgot.” Rosalie put her biscuit back.
“It’s ham,” said Rebecca Steinau.
Emmy Lou was hurt. It seemed almost like preconcerted reflection on her biscuits and her ham.
Hattie took Emmy Lou aside. “It’s their religion,” said Hattie, in tones of large tolerance. “We can eat anything, you and I, ’Piscopalians and Presbyterians.”
“But Rosalie,” said Emmy Lou; Rosalie, like Emmy Lou, was Episcopalian.
But Rosalie had joined Hattie and Emmy Lou. “My little brother’s singing in the vested choir,” said Rosalie, “and we’re going to be High Church.”
Hattie looked at Rosalie steadily. Then Hattie took another biscuit. Hattie took another biscuit, deliberately, aggressively. It was as though, with Hattie, to take another biscuit was a matter of conscience and protest. Hattie was Presbyterian.
But to Emmy Lou biscuits and ham had lost their savour. Emmy Lou admired Rebecca. Rebecca could reduce pounds and shillings to pence with a rapidity that Emmy Lou could not even follow. Yet Rebecca stooped from this eminence to help labouring Emmy Lou with her sums.