“I don't know,” whispered the minister's wife. “I was very much afraid she didn't at first. I began to feel very nervous. I knew Mr. Wheeler would have been much distressed if he had suspected anything clandestine.”
“Did she have a new dress?” asked Mrs. Robbins.
“No,” replied the minister's wife; “and that was one thing that made me suspicious. She wore her old blue one, but George Freeman wore a nice new suit.”
“I heard,” said Mrs. Lowe, “that Flora had all her under-clothes made before old Mr. Maxwell died, an' she hadn't got any of her dresses. I had it pretty straight. She told my Flora.”
“I had heard that the wedding was postponed on account of Mr. Maxwell's death, and so I was a little surprised when Mr. Wheeler came to me and said they were in the parlor to be married,” said the minister's wife; “but I put on my dress as quick as I could, and went in to witness it.”
“How did Flora appear?” asked Mrs. Lowe.
“Well, I thought she looked rather sober, but I don't know as she looked any more so than girls usually do when they're married. I have seen them come to the parsonage looking more as if they were going to their own funerals than their weddings, they were so scared and quiet and sober. Now Flora—” The minister's wife stopped short, she heard Mrs. Maxwell coming and she turned the conversation with a jolt of conscience into another channel. “Yes, it is very dry,” said she effusively; “we need rain very much indeed.”
The little woman with the crimped hair colored very painfully.
Mrs. Maxwell made frequent errands into the room, and her daughter's wedding had to be discussed guardedly. Always after she went out, the women looked at each other in an agony of inquiry.
“Do you s'pose she knew?” they whispered.