Followed by this seedy messenger, she hastened from the church.
"What is it?" she asked him when they got outside.
"I dunno. The gentleman hollered to me from the door, and sent me to fetch you."
The house door stood ajar; and her husband, in his dressing-gown and slippers, was anxiously waiting for her and guarding the foot of the stairs.
"All right," he said to the loafer. "I'll remember you another time;" and he shut the door and bolted it.
From the top of the stairs there came a sound of wailing and lamentation.
"Jane, look here. I want you to stop this fool's mouth—what's her name—Susan. I've somehow upset her. And that infernal cook is encouraging her to squall the house down."
Without a word Mrs. Marsden hurried upstairs. The cook, a sour-visaged woman of thirty-five, was on the threshold of the kitchen; and Susan, the apple-cheeked housemaid, was clinging to cook's arm, and sobbing and howling.
"Emily—Susan," said Mrs. Marsden quietly, "what is all this noise and fuss about?"