Part 8 (1/2)
Although a certain family resemblance was characteristic of them, they looked little alike. Eliza, it was true, was less angular than Mary and lacked her firmness of mouth and chin; but nevertheless the Howe stamp was upon her black hair, heavy, bushy brows, and n.o.ble cast of forehead. It was Jane's face, touched by a humor the others could not boast, that instantly arrested Lucy's attention. It was a fine, almost cla.s.sic countenance which bespoke high thinking and a respect for its own soul.
The eyes were gray and kindly, and in contrast to the undisguised dismay of her sisters, Jane's att.i.tude was one of unruffled composure.
”You want some eggs?” she began with directness.
”If you can spare a dozen.”
”I reckon we can.”
”Now, Jane----” interrupted Mary nervously.
”Do be careful, Jane,” chimed in Eliza.
”I have a right to----” but the resolute Jane was not permitted to finish her declaration.
”Martin won't----” interpolated Mary.
”You know Martin will be dretful put out,” protested Eliza at the same instant.
”I can't help it if he is,” a.s.serted Jane impatiently. ”I ain't obliged to think as he does, am I?”
”He'll be--oh, Jane!” Eliza implored.
”I'll take all the blame.”
”I don't know what he'll say,” pleaded Mary.
”Well, I'm going to get the eggs, anyhow,” announced Jane, cutting short further argument by moving away.
During this enigmatic dialogue, Lucy's mystified gaze traveled from the face of one woman to that of another. What was it all about? And who was this Martin that he should inspire such terror?
”I'm afraid,” she called to the retreating Jane, ”you'd rather not----”
”It's all right, my dear,” replied Jane cordially. ”We're glad to let you have the eggs. I'll get them right away. It won't take me a second.”
She disappeared behind the paneled door at the end of the hall, and presently Mary and Eliza, who had loitered irresolutely, uncertain whether to go or stay, followed her.
Left to herself, Lucy looked idly across the sunny landscape. Against the sky line at the top of the hill she could see a tall, masculine figure delving in the garden.
”That must be Martin-the-Terrible,” she observed. ”He doesn't look like such an ogre.”
The banging of the door heralded Jane's approach. She held in her hand a neatly tied package, and over her shoulders peered Mary and Eliza.
”The eggs will be sixty-seven cents,” Jane said in a businesslike tone.
”That is the regular market price. I'd carry the box this side up if I were you.”
Lucy counted the change into the woman's palm.
”You have such a pretty home,” she murmured as she did so.