“I don't think I ever did, miss.”
“I don't believe you. Not when that nice young man you were telling us about looked at you? Come, now, tell the truth.”
“Well, miss, I don't know—I thought it was very revolting.”
Mrs. Wood said nothing; with her hand in suspended gesture and her spectacles a-glimmer with round surprise, she sat looking at Miss Maggie. Her reveries, however, were soon cut short, for Sally not only asked her if she had ever experienced the doubtful pleasure of electricity, but advised her when she returned home to try if her husband's looks could thrill her.
“I don't think the conversation at all nice,” said Grace, who had up to the present taken no part either by looks, or words, or laughter.
“Who cares what you think? You used to be fond enough of sitting out dances with him. You mean to say he never gave you electricity?”
“No, never.”
“Then I hope Berkins will,” said Sally, with a coarse laugh.
The association of Berkins with electricity proved so generally ludicrous that Mrs. Wood, conscious of the respect she owed Miss Brookes, pretended to look for her handkerchief, and it was for a moment doubtful if the spectacles would preserve their gravity. Tears started to Grace's eyes, and she bent over her work to hide them from her sisters, which was unnecessary, for Maggie and Sally were absorbed in past experiences.
“What about Frank?” Sally asked, and Susan looked up curious to hear Maggie's answer.