B." and "Allie"--and heavy-voiced Joe,
too. But I hid my feelings.
"There's nowhere else to go," said I, "except the brougham."
She sank into her chair.
A few minutes more of silence, and there was a rustling on the stairs.
She started up, trembling, looked round, as if seeking some way of escape
or some place to hide. Joe was in the doorway holding aside one of the
curtains. There entered in a beribboned and beflounced tea-gown, a pretty,
if rather ordinary, woman of forty, with a petulant baby face. She was
trying to look reserved and severe. She hardly glanced at me before
fastening sharp, suspicious eyes on Anita.
"Mrs. Ball," said I, "this is Miss Ellersly,"
"Miss Ellersly!" she exclaimed, her face changing. And she advanced and
took both Anita's hands. "Mr. Ball is so stupid," she went on, with that
amusingly affected accent which is the "Sunday clothes" of speech.
"I didn't catch the name, my dear," Joe stammered.
"Be off," said I, aside, to him. "Get the nearest preacher, and hustle him
here with his tools."
I had one eye on Anita all the time, and I saw her gaze follow Joe as he
hurried out; and her expression made my heart ache. I heard him saying in
the hall, "Go in, Allie.
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