The old woman got up and began to move the chairs about with purposeless industry.
"It's awful hard to know what to do sometimes," she said, indulging in a generality that might be mollifying, but was scarcely glittering.
"Well, it isn't hard for me to know this time," said Mrs. Weaver, her features drawn into a look of pudgy determination. "No girl of mine shall ever go traipsing off to California alone on any such wild-goose chase."
Ethel got up and moved toward the stairway, her tawny head thrown back, and an eloquent accentuation of heel in her tread.
"I just believe old folks like for young folks to be foolish and wasteful," she said over her shoulder, "so they can have something to nag them about. I'm sure I"—She slammed the door upon her voice, which seemed to be carried upward in a little whirlwind of indignation.
Mrs. Weaver glanced at her mother-in-law for sympathy, but the old woman refused to meet her gaze.
"I'm just real mad at Rob Kendall for suggesting such a thing and getting Ethel all worked up," clucked the younger woman anxiously.
Mrs. Moxom came back to her chair as aimlessly as she had left it.
"Men-folks are kind of helpless when it comes to planning," she said apologetically. "To think of them poor things trying to keep house—and the biscuits being soggy! It does kind of work on her feelings, Emma."
Mrs. Weaver gave her mother-in-law a glance of rotund severity.