William’s mother sighed.
“I hate divorces,” she said at last. “We never had one in the family.”
“That’s because you’re from South Carolina,” retorted her husband unfeelingly. “Can’t get one there, anyway.”
Mrs. Carter disregarded this.
“I don’t feel right about it. She—she saved Leigh.”
Mr. Carter pursed his lips, moving his feet comfortably about on the rug. He and his wife had been over this ground before, and it irked him. He watched his toes moving inside of his coarse white stockings. There was a silence.
The door-bell rang sharply. Mrs. Carter jumped.
“Oh, Johnson, put on your coat and your shoes,” she cried. “Miranda’s let some one in.”
Mr. Carter began to jam his hot feet into his shoes, which seemed incredibly too small to receive them.
“Drat it!” he said.