She crossed the kitchen, but ere she left it, long housewifely habit made her “give a look to the stove.” The burnished copper kettle was domed by a great crimson bubble, raised sphere-like by the steam.
“My soul!” said Temperance, and took a flight across the kitchen, lifting the heavy pot with one sweep from the fire to the floor. The dome quivered, rose a fraction and collapsed in a mass of rosy foam.
The crisis was past, and just then the expected knock came.
Temperance drew a long breath.
“There!” she said, “that jell’s done for! I’ll have to stand palavering with some agent chap or book-canvasser with my jell a-setting there gettin’ all muddied up.”
This reflection bore her company to the front door, which she opened with an air of calm surprise. Miss Tribbey knew her manners.
“Well, I declare!” she said. “Have you been here long?”
“No—came this very minute,” said Sidney in his soft, penetrating voice.
“Oh, the liar!” said Miss Tribbey to herself, scandalized.