“You'd better ask Mrs. Gerrish the next time she calls,” Putney interposed.
Mrs. Putney stopped, and took her hand from her husband's arm. “Well, after what Mr. Gerrish said to-night about you, I don't think Emmeline had better call very soon!”
“Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!” shrieked Putney, and his laugh flapped back at them in derisive echo from the house-front they were passing. “I guess Brother Peck had better stay and help fight it out. It won't be all brotherly love after he goes—or sisterly either.”
XXVI.
Annie knew from the light in the kitchen window that Mrs. Bolton, who had not gone to the meeting, was there, and she inferred from the silence of the house that Bolton had not yet come home. She went up to her room, and after a glance at Idella asleep in her crib, she began to lay off her things. Then she sat down provisionally by the open window, and looked out into the still autumnal night. The air was soft and humid, with a scent of smoke in it from remote forest fires. The village lights showed themselves dimmed by the haze that thickened the moonless dark.
She heard steps on the gravel of the lane, and then two men talking, one of whom she knew to be Bolton. In a little while the back entry door was opened and shut, and after a brief murmur of voices in the library Mrs. Bolton knocked on the door-jamb of the room where Annie sat.
“What is it, Mrs. Bolton?”
“You in bed yet?”
“No; I'm here by the window. What is it?”