Mrs. Maxwell's old face suddenly paled, and at the same time grew alert. Her black eyes, on Mrs. Wheeler's face, were sharply bright.
“Mebbe I have, an' mebbe I ain't,” said she, and she smiled too.
“Well,” said the minister's wife, “I told Flora that her mother must be a brave woman to invite company to tea the afternoon her daughter was married, and I thought we all ought to appreciate it.”
The other women gasped. Mrs. Maxwell's face was yellow-white in its framework of curls; there was a curious noise in her throat, like a premonitory click of a clock before striking.
“Well,” said she, “Flora 'd had this day set for the weddin' for six months. When her uncle died, we talked a little about puttin' of it off, but she thought 'twas a bad sign. So it seemed best for her to get married without any fuss at all about it. An' I thought if I had a little company to tea, it would do as well as a weddin'.”
Mrs. Maxwell's old black eyes travelled slowly and unflinchingly around the company, resting on each in turn as if she had with each a bout of single combat. The other women's eyes were full of scared questionings as they met hers.
“They got off in the three-o'clock train,” remarked the minister's wife, trying to speak easily.
“That was the one they'd talked of,” said Mrs. Maxwell calmly. “Now I guess I shall have to leave you ladies to entertain each other a few minutes.”
When Mrs. Maxwell had left the room, the ladies stared at each other.
“Do you s'pose she didn't know about it?” whispered Mrs. Lowe.