“He must have heard it shut, and—”
“Well, I can say what I want to before he comes down, and I am not afraid of him.”
“I don’t know who is afraid of him! What reason is there for anybody to be afraid of Henry?” demanded Caroline.
Mrs. Brigham trembled before her sister’s look. Rebecca gasped again. “There isn’t any reason, of course. Why should there be?”
“I wouldn’t speak so, then. Somebody might overhear you and think it was queer. Miranda Joy is in the south parlor sewing, you know.”
“I thought she went upstairs to stitch on the machine.”
“She did, but she has come down again.”
“Well, she can’t hear.”
“I say again I think Henry ought to be ashamed of himself. I shouldn’t think he’d ever get over it, having words with poor Edward the very night before he died. Edward was enough sight better disposition than Henry, with all his faults. I always thought a great deal of poor Edward, myself.”
Mrs. Brigham passed a large fluff of handkerchief across her eyes;
Rebecca sobbed outright.