Mrs. Benton's body was to arrive on a Thursday, from the West. Johnnie arrived from the East on Tuesday morning, to find his home swept and garnished and in possession of an old and silent aunt and a young and gushing one. He came to Emily for refuge that evening. He seemed almost stupefied by the event. Emily had never thought of him as a nervous man before. He talked in a way unnaturally incoherent, and he stirred about nervously, unable to sit down. The second time she noticed his hand refrain spasmodically from a cigarette, she said:
"Smoke if you want to."
But he burst out: "No. I won't have people laughing—about THIS. I won't have them talking about her."
"But no one is going to talk about her if you smoke here with me."
"Don't you think so? Nobody would see me?"
"No. Nobody could find anything to laugh at in that."
He was already lighting a match. "I thought they looked at me funny when I went to light up," he said. Emily knew he spoke of his aunts. "I want everything done right for her. I won't have people talking about THIS. They say I have to be the chief mourner, Mrs. Kenworthy."
"Well, you are that, Johnnie; you're nearest her."
"I know it; but they made me stay in there to see the minister. He asked me what chapter I wanted read! I felt like a fool, Mrs. Kenworthy. I felt like a dirty hypocrite!"
"I wouldn't feel that way. These things have got to be done, apparently."