Mrs. Dix was sitting in the back seat of the carryall with Mrs. Dodge. The two girls were in front. Lydia noticed mechanically that both were freshly gowned in white and that Fanny, who was driving, eyed her with haughty reserve from under the brim of her flower-laden hat. Ellen Dix had turned her head to gaze after Jim Dodge’s retreating figure; her eyes returned to Lydia with an expression of sulky reluctance.
“I’m so glad to see you,” said Lydia. “Won’t you come in?”
“I should like to,” said Mrs. Dodge. “Jim has been telling us about the improvements, all along.”
“It certainly does look nice,” chimed in Mrs. Dix. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible, in such a little time, too. Just cramp that wheel a little more, Fanny.”
The two older women descended from the carryall and began looking eagerly around.
“Just see how nice the grass looks,” said Mrs. Dodge. “And the flowers! My! I didn’t suppose Jim was that smart at fixing things up.... Aren’t you going to get out, girls?”
The two girls still sat on the high front seat of the carryall; both were gazing at Lydia in her simple morning frock. There were no flowers on Lydia’s Panama hat; nothing but a plain black band; but it had an air of style and elegance. Fanny was wishing she had bought a plain hat without roses. Ellen tossed her dark head:
“I don’t know,” she said. “You aren’t going to stay long; are you, mother?”
“For pity sake, Ellen!” expostulated Mrs. Dodge briskly. “Of course you’ll get out, and you, too, Fanny. The horse’ll stand.”
“Please do!” entreated Lydia.