Mrs. Allison and the three old ladies with whom Jane was to drink tea, were neighbors. Mrs. Allison lived alone, and the other three lived in the homes of their several sons and daughters. They played cards every Friday afternoon, and Jane always came over when Mrs. Allison entertained and helped her with the refreshments. They were very simple and pleasant old ladies with a nice sense of their own dignity. They resented deeply the fact of Mrs. Follette’s social condescensions. The lady of the manor spoke to them when she met them on the street or in church, but she never invited them to her house. She was, in effect, the chatelaine, while they were merely Smith and Brown and Robinson!
Well, at any rate, they had Jane. Some of the other young people scorned these elderly tea-parties, and if they came, were apt to show it in their manner. But Jane was never scornful. She always had the time of her life, and the old ladies felt particularly joyous and juvenile when she was one of them.
But this afternoon Jane was late. Tea was always served promptly at four. And it happened that there were popovers. So, of course, they couldn’t wait.
“I telephoned to Sophy,” said Mrs. Allison, “and Jane has gone to town. I suppose something has kept her. Anyhow we’ll start in.”
So the old ladies ate the popovers and drank hot sweet chocolate, and found them not as delectable as when Jane was there to share them.
Things were, indeed, a bit dull. They discussed Mrs. Follette, whose faults furnished a perpetual topic. Mrs. Allison told them that the young Baldwins had dined at Castle Manor on Thanksgiving. And that there had been other guests.
“How can she afford it,” was the unanimous opinion, “with that poor boy on her hands?”
“He’s hanging around now, waiting for Jane’s train,” said Mrs. Allison, bringing in hot supplies from the kitchen. “He met the noon train, too.”
The old ladies knew that Evans was in love with Jane. He showed it, unmistakably. But they hoped that Jane wouldn’t look at him. He was dear and good, and had been wonderful once upon a time. But that time had passed, and it was impossible to consider Mrs. Follette as Jane’s mother-in-law!
“He’s sitting up there on the terrace,” Mrs. Allison further informed them. “Do you think I’d better ask him to come over?”