It was Mary Jessup—now Mrs. Mary Williams—who stopped the way, and whose face crimsoned as she approached. She had been married four or five years—well married, as the phrase is. Her appearance had greatly improved. Her form was finely developed. She had become stouter, and was really more blooming than when she was a girl.
I have said she blushed, but not from any sense of mortification, such as is not unfrequently experienced when one of the sex, feeling conscious that time has not dealt kindly with her, meets an old friend after a lapse of years, and dreads the first scrutinizing gaze. On the contrary, Mary Williams was fully sensible of her improved good looks, and this gave to her a certain self-possession of manner which prevented the least awkwardness on her part.
Still she blushed—from old recollections, doubtless, and because Hiram had not before greeted her as a married woman.
'Why, how do you do, Mr. Meeker? I am very glad to see you, even by accident. I heard of you at father's, and I think you might, for old acquaintance, sake, have stepped in to see me. Mr. Williams, too—you used to know him—would be very glad to see you.'
Mrs. Williams was determined to have the first word, and she took advantage of it. She looked very handsome, and acted more and more at ease as she proceeded, especially after the reference to Mr. Williams.
[Women always like to allude to their husbands in presence of an old admirer; as much as to say, 'Don't think I am without somebody to care for and protect me;' or, 'Don't fancy I mean to forget my husband because I choose to be chattering with you;' or—or—or—a dozen things else.]
Hiram replied in his old artful way, very seriously, and with an air of sadness (as he made allusion to his mother's situation), yet with a touch of embarrassment (all assumed), while his voice assumed a tenderness of feeling which it would seem impossible for him to restrain in consequence of the suddenness of the meeting.
'Is she indeed so ill?' asked Mrs. Williams. 'We understood she was greatly afflicted by a stroke of paralysis, but I had no thought of immediate danger.'
'She cannot live,' replied Hiram, his lips quivering.
'Oh, Mr. Meeker, do not say that. I cannot bear to hear it. You know how attached I always was to your mother.'