Her heart beat loudly in her
ears, her little thin hands were cold in her great muff. She had
married very young, out of a godly New England minister's home. She
had never known anything like this before, and a sort of general
shame of femininity seemed to be upon her.
When she followed her husband into Mrs. Sloane's house she felt
herself as burdened with shame--as if she stood in Rebecca's place.
Her little face, all blue with the sharp cold, shrank, shocked and
sober, into the depths of her great hood. She stood behind her
husband, her narrow girlish shoulders bending under her thick
mantilla, and never looked at the face of anybody in the room.
She did not see William at all. He stood up before them as they
entered; they all nodded gravely. Nobody spoke but Mrs. Sloane,
vibrating nervously in the midst of her clamorous hens, and Barney
silenced her.
"We'll go right in," he said, in a stern, peremptory tone; then he
turned to William. "Are you ready?" he asked.
William nodded, with his eyes cast down. The party made a motion
towards the other room, but Mrs. Sloane unexpectedly stood before the
door.
"I told her there shouldn't nobody come in," said she, "an' I ain't
goin' to have you all bustin' in on her without she knows it. She's
terrible upset. You wait a minute."
Mrs. Sloane's blue eyes glared defiantly at the company.
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