“Good morning, Emmeline,” said Annie; she annexed some irrelevancies about the weather, which Mrs. Munger swept away with business-like robustness.
“We were driving down to your house to find you. I want to see the principal ladies of your church, and talk with them about our Social Union. You've heard about it?”
“Well, nothing very particular,” said Mrs. Gerrish; she had probably heard nothing at all. After a moment she asked, “Have you seen Mrs. Wilmington yet?”
“No, I haven't,” cried Mrs. Munger. “The fact is, I wanted to talk it over with you and Mr. Gerrish first.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Gerrish, brightening. “Well, I was just going right there. I guess he's in.”
“Well, we shall meet there, then. Sorry I can't offer you a seat. But there's nothing but the rumble, and that wouldn't hold you all.”
Mrs. Munger called this back after starting her pony. Mrs. Gerrish did not understand, and screamed, “What?”
Mrs. Munger repeated her joke at the top of her voice.
“Oh, I can walk!” Mrs. Gerrish yelled at the top of hers. Both the ladies laughed at their repartee.
“She's as jealous of Mrs. Wilmington as a cat,” Mrs. Munger confided to Annie as they drove away; “and she's just as pleased as Punch that I've spoken to her first. Mrs. Wilmington won't mind. She's so delightfully indifferent, it really renders her almost superior; you might forget that she was a village person. But this has been an immense stroke. I don't know,” she mused, “whether I'd better let her get there first and prepare her husband, or do it myself. No; I'll let her. I'll stop here at Gates's.”