“And Jem'll be home from the Georges, too,” Olive added, seating herself with the tea. “I do hope he won't sign for China or any of those long voyages like he threatened.”
“He won't get so far away from Jason,” Hester stated.
“I saw Honora Canderay today,” Rhoda informed them. “She wasn't in the carriage, but walking past the courthouse. She had on a small bonnet with flowers inside the brim and skimpy hoops, gallooned and scalloped.”
“Did she stop?” Olive inquired.
“Yes, and said I was as bright as a fall maple leaf. I wish I could look like Honora Canderay——-”
“Wait till Jason's back,” Hester interrupted.
“It isn't her clothes,” Rhoda went on; “they're elegant material, of course, but not the colors I'd choose; nor it isn't her looks, either, no one would say she's downright pretty; it's just—just her. Is she as old as you, Olive?”
“Let's see, I'm thirty-six, and Honora Canderay was... she's near as old, a year younger maybe.”
“She is wonderful to get close to,” said Rhoda, “no cologne and yet a lovely kind of smell——”
“Not like dead haddock.” This was Hester again.