A Bit of News
That night, at supper, Aunt Matilda electrified Grandmother with a bit of news which she had jealously kept to herself all day.
"The milkman was telling me," she remarked, with an assumed carelessness which deceived no one, "that there's company up to Marshs'."
Grandmother dropped her knife and fork with a sharp clatter. "You don't tell me!" she cried. "Who in creation is it?"
"I was minded to tell you before," Aunt Matilda resumed, with tantalising deliberation, "but you've had your nose in that fool paper all day, and whenever I spoke to you you told me not to interrupt. Literary folks is terrible afraid of bein' interrupted, I've heard, so I let you alone."
"I didn't know it was anything important," murmured Grandmother, apologetically.
"How could you know," questioned Matilda, logically, "before I'd told you what it was?"
There being no ready answer to this, Grandmother responded with a snort, which meant much or little, as one might choose. A dull red burned on her withered cheeks and she had lost interest in her supper. Only Rosemary was calm.
A Play-Actin' Person
"As I was sayin'," Matilda went on, after an aggravating silence, "there's company up to Marshs'."