“Want a ride! Sakes, no,” said Mrs. Wither, tossing her head. “But ain’t you terrible anxious? I kin feel for you.”
“Anxious about what?” asked Miss Tribbey coldly, eyeing Mrs. Wither steadily.
Mrs. Wither faded back into the crowd, giggling nervously.
“That Temperance Tribbey is the queerest woman!” she said to Mrs. Ranger as she passed.
Meanwhile, Vashti had been engaged upon the other hand by Mrs. Smilie, who was large, motherly looking, but dangerous. She had a way of enveloping her victims in a conversational embrace, and when she released them they were usually limp. Any information they had possessed prior to the meeting having been passed on to Mrs. Smilie.
But Vashti had refused the combat; having done so, however, with such a sorrowfully resigned expression that Mrs. Smilie felt her to be void of offence, and said afterwards:
“I was real sorry for Vashti Lansing. She was real humiliated. To think Mabella ’ud act up that way. Vashti looked really concerned; she’s got a lot of sense, Vashti Lansing has! My heart jest ached fer her.”
Mrs. Smilie’s heart was always aching for somebody, but it did not tell much upon her general health.
As Nathan Peck, a sufficiently ridiculous figure in his suit of black diagonal, with the muffler superimposed, helped Temperance into the democrat, he squeezed her hand awkwardly, but avoided meeting her eyes; and she studiously looked over his head. Thus they acknowledged their mutual regret over Mabella’s action.