But when she heard the humming of the starting car, and knew that her recent visitor was well out of sight and hearing, she resumed her seat, locked her hands above her head, and permitted her fine lips to curve in a smile that was neither gentle nor tender, nor wholly void of guile.
The door from the kitchen was opened and a little old woman with a deeply wrinkled face thrust her head into the room.
“Has everybody gone, Mary?” she asked.
“Yes, mother.”
“The first man that come was a preacher, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, mother.”
“Is he goin’ to hold the funeral?”
“No.”
“Why ain’t he?”