Her laugh broke,
and the tears started into her eyes; she ran out of the room,
and up the stairs.
"What--what does it mean?" asked Irene in a daze.
Mrs. Lapham was still in the chilly torpor to which
Mrs. Corey's call had reduced her. Penelope's vehemence
did not rouse her. She only shook her head absently,
and said, "I don't know."
"Why should Pen care what impression she made? I didn't
suppose it would make any difference to her whether
Mrs. Corey liked her or not."
"I didn't, either. But I could see that she was just
as nervous as she could be, every minute of the time.
I guess she didn't like Mrs. Corey any too well from
the start, and she couldn't seem to act like herself."
"Tell me about it, mamma," said Irene, dropping into
a chair.
Mrs. Corey described the interview to her husband on
her return home. "Well, and what are your inferences?"
he asked.
"They were extremely embarrassed and excited--that is,
the mother. I don't wish to do her injustice, but she
certainly behaved consciously."
"You made her feel so, I dare say, Anna. I can imagine
how terrible you must have been in the character
of an accusing spirit, too lady-like to say anything.
What did you hint?"
"I hinted nothing," said Mrs. Corey, descending to
the weakness of defending herself. "But I saw quite
enough to convince me that the girl is in love with Tom,
and the mother knows it.
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