Mrs. Addison had opened her mouth very impressively more than once, but it was only now that she got a chance to speak. In spite of their boasted fluency, both she and her husband had always to yield the palm to Mrs. Will. Mrs. Addison, however, always watched her chance, while Stephen was simply flabby, and did not try. She and Eliza in the same room were like firmly opposing currents, flowing strongly in the same stream.
“Mr. Addison’s to preach at this mission they’re having, next week,” she announced proudly. “There’s to be a Service for men only, and our Stephen’s to give ’em a talk. I won’t say but what he’ll do as well as a real minister, even though I do happen to be his wife. Likely you’ll think on about it, and send some of your lads along, Mrs. Will?”
Eliza was quite unable to conceal her disgust at a distinction achieved by somebody not her own.
“I’ll do my best, I’m sure,” she assented casually and without looking at her, “though I doubt they’ll want coaxing a bit wi’ a broom-handle or a clout!” She disliked being called Mrs. Will, and knew that Mrs. Addison did it with fell intent. It was galling to be reminded that, in spite of his success, Will had still not managed to make himself into the elder son. … “I can’t say they’re that set on either church or chapel unless it’s to see a lass,” she went on, busy with the cups, “and I doubt they don’t reckon much o’ sermons unless they’re good. They’ve been better eddicated than most folk, you’ll think on, so they’re hard to suit. ’Tisn’t likely they could do wi’ secondhand preaching from some as happen never went to school at all.”
Mr. Addison made a sudden attempt to speak, but choked instead, while Eliza looked as innocent as a large-sized lamb.
“Ay, I’ve heard a deal o’ sermons as was just waste breath,” she went on kindly, “and that’s the truth. All the same, I’ll likely look in at Mission myself, one o’ these days, if I can get away. I’m always glad to set still after a hard week, and to get a look at other folks’ jackets and hats. Not that there’s much to crack on at chapel, that way. … I’m a deal fonder o’ church. I was wed at St. Michael’s, you’ll think on—ay, and Sarah an’ all. Eh, I could laugh even yet at yon march we stole on her, me an’ Will!”
Sally moved impatiently at her aunt’s elbow, and muttered something under her breath. She was tired of the old story, and disapproved of it as well. Sarah had lifted her cup to her lips, but now she set it down. …
Mary Phyllis stopped giggling a moment, and leaned forward to speak.
“I was telling Cousin Elliman about it only this morning,” she said noisily, “and he says it’s the funniest thing he ever heard! I thought everybody knew about it, but he says he didn’t. He said it was real smart of you, Mother, and he wished he could have been there. …”
“I’ll be bound Sarah didn’t think it smart!” Eliza chuckled, but without glancing at her victim’s face. She had a trick of discussing people when they were present, as Sarah knew. She could tell by the trend of Eliza’s voice that she spoke without turning her head.
“Smart? Nay! Sarah was real wild, you take my word! I spoke to her in t’vestry when the show was through, and she give me a look as was more like a dog’s bite. Eh, well, I reckon poor Sarah was jealous o’ my gown, seeing her own was nowt to crack on—and nowt then! I’d always settled to be real smart when I got wed, and my own lasses was just the same. None o’ my folk can do wi’ owt as isn’t first-class and happen a bit over. Yon’s the photo we had took at Annie Belle’s wedding,” she added, turning to point, “and there’s another of Alice Evelyn’s in the parlour.”
The cousin and Mary Phyllis left their seats to giggle together over the stiff figures, and presently the girl turned to her sister with a malicious taunt.
“I say, our Sally, you’d best look out when you do get wed, or happen I’ll play a trick on you, same as mother did Aunt Sarah! You’ll be rarely riled if I come marching up the aisle with a fine young man, taking all the shine out of you and Elliman!”
The cousin said something in a low tone which made her flush and laugh, and Sally guessed at it quickly enough, though it did not reach her ears. The tears came into her eyes, and on an impulse of fellow-feeling she turned towards her aunt. She was asking after May Fleming when her mother broke across her talk.
“Eh, now, Sarah, yon was never May, was it, along wi’ you in Witham? I’ll be bound I’d never have known her if she hadn’t been with you, but there’s not that many you’re seen about with nowadays at market. ’Tisn’t like me, as can’t stir a step without somebody wanting a crack or hanging on to my gown. But May’s changed out of all knowledge—I was fair bothered to see her look so old! I’ll swear our Annie Belle looks as young again,
