They were very different physically—Hettie was slimmer, less tall, her thin eager face hadn’t the curious long lines of Sharon’s; and very different were they mentally. Hettie, however gaily affectionate, was never moody, never hysterical. Yet there was the same rich excitement about life and the same devotion to their man.
And there was the same impressive ability to handle people.
If anything could have increased T. J. Rigg’s devotion to Elmer and the church, it was the way in which Hettie, instinctively understanding Rigg’s importance, flattered him and jested with him and encouraged him to loaf in the church office, though he interrupted her work and made her stay later at night.
She carried out a harder, more important task—she encouraged William Dollinger Styles, who was never so friendly as Rigg. She told him that he was a Napoleon of Finance. She almost went too far in her attentions to Styles; she lunched with him, alone. Elmer protested, jealously, and she amiably agreed never to see Styles again outside of the church.
V
That was a hard, a rather miserable job, getting rid of the Lulu Bains whom Hettie had made superfluous.
On the Tuesday evening after his first meeting with Hettie, when Lulu came cooing into his study, Elmer looked depressed, did not rise to welcome her. He sat at his desk, his chin moodily in his two hands.
“What is it, dear?” Lulu pleaded.
“Sit down—no, please, don’t kiss me—sit down over there, dearest. We must have an earnest talk,” said the Reverend Dr. Gantry.
She looked so small, so rustic, for all her new frock, as she quivered in an ugly straight chair.