“Five more. You will excuse me, Belden, but your aunt, Mrs. Wetherly, is a somewhat unusually irritating woman. I’ll see you, Miss Strong—ah, yes, two pair, queens up.”
“What has she done?”
“She insists that Mrs. Moore shall not only see Mr. Burchard, to which I have not the least objection, but that he shall hold a communion service, directly, there. Now, if your sister had asked for this herself, it would be another matter, but unless this is the case I always regard it as a depressing agent. It is a strain, in any case.”
“I think Mrs. Moore will go through with it very easily, doctor,” Miss Strong interposed, slipping the cards into their leather envelope and gathering up the beans. “She will be fresh from her nap, and it will be very short. She has promised Mrs. Wetherly, you know, and it would distress her more to break it—”
“All right, all right. Have it your way. Much obliged.”
He took the cards from her and went out.
“My aunt is very trying,” Belden began.
“Oh, many people feel so about it,” she assured him, “especially High Church people. She only did what she thought right.”
He drew a breath of relief.
“You’ll see she’s not too tired?” he asked; and as he went to luncheon he wondered at the comfort he derived from her mute nod.