Bessie and
Mr. Boult, sitting side by side on the sofa in that apartment, flew rather
violently apart at the interruption of her entrance.
"Well, Deleah! What a way to dash into the room!" Bessie said; a flurried
Bessie with red cheeks, bursting into a scolding tone, to cover evident
embarrassment.
"Where is mama?" Deleah, gasping with astonishment, got out; and Bessie,
in the flurry and perturbation of the moment, flung at her the sisterly
advice to find out.
Deleah, pale of face, eyes staring, gazed speechless from Bessie on the
sofa, in the black-and-white muslin recommended by Emily, to Mr. Boult,
now engaged in peering with sudden interest into the street. Then,
shutting the door hastily upon the pair, she went to Emily, in the
kitchen.
"How long has Mr. Boult been here?"
Emily had not looked at the clock.
"Is he going to stay to tea?"
Emily would set an extra cup, on the chance of it. "You'd best go and find
your ma, Miss Deleah; she's gone to the cemetery, and have no right to be
there alone."
"I am going; and, Emily, I won't come into the house any more while that
man is there; and mama shall not."
"Now _you're_ going to make a heap of fuss!" the worried Emily said.
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