Part 51 (2/2)
”What of that? We have not a moment to lose. There'll be crowds at the church. I am given to understand it will be packed, and as I intend to have a front seat, I'm going now.”
Miss Peters began to count on her fingers.
”But Martha, it surely is not necessary.”
”Now, Maria, that's enough. You'd argue any one black in the face. I don't often have my way, but I'll have it on this occasion. I am going to call for Mrs. Gorman Stanley; and Mrs. Morris asked me to knock her up, and we'll all of us just be at the church in good time.”
”In good time,” gasped Miss Maria. ”But the doors won't be opened.”
”Oh, won't they! You just wait and see. I haven't fought that girl's battles for nothing. We'll be able to get into the church, Maria, don't you fear. I have made friends as well as foes of late, and there are these who can get me into the church, so that I may stand up for Beatrice to the last. Now, have you swallowed your coffee?”
”I have. It has scalded my throat frightfully. I hate drinking hot liquid in such a hurry.”
”Maria, you are dreadfully fractious this morning. And, good gracious me! What have you got in your bonnet! Here let me hold up the candle and look.”
”Don't--don't drop the grease on my brown silk, Martha.”
”Brown fiddlestick! Hold your head steady. Well--I never! The vanity of some folk! The apings of some people. Oh, I haven't a word to say if you like to make a show of yourself. I respect my years. I live up to them.
Some people, I won't name who--don't.”
”Had I better take off the bonnet, Martha? I thought these very _large_ chrysanthemums--I chose them on purpose--”
”Hideous--you're a perfect fright! Look at me. Is there anything to laugh at in my velvet bonnet? Does it poke itself on the back of my head? And does it deck itself in pink and yellow?”
”It looks funereal, Martha, it's all black.”
”Funereal! It looks suitable. Come on, or we'll be late.”
The two ladies left the house. They walked quickly in the early morning light. Presently, they were joined by Mrs. Gorman Stanley. She was completely clothed in bridal garments of yellow. Her robe was yellow satin, her bonnet was to match, with blue forget-me-nots cozily nestling in its folds. Mrs. Morris joined the group in terra-cotta cashmere, with a cream lace bonnet. Round her face and mouth she had enveloped a black woollen shawl, but this was to be discarded presently.
As the ladies walked to the church they were joined by several more Beatricites, and when at last they found themselves under the shadow of the old tower, and in the shelter of the ancient porch, they were quite a goodly company.
”We'll just fill the front seats comfortably,” said Mrs. Butler. ”When Mrs. Bell and her Hart.i.tes arrive they'll have to go behind.”
”But how are we to get in?” again questioned Miss Maria.
”Oh, I'll manage that. I have it all arranged. I spoke to Hunt yesterday.”
Hunt was not only the baker, he was the church verger. He had quite sympathized with Mrs. Butler's wishes, while selling her a two-penny loaf yesterday. But why did he not put in an appearance now?
”Martha,” again whispered Miss Maria, ”Who are those people creeping round there by the south wall?”
”No one,” snapped Mrs. Butler. ”You're fanciful this morning, Maria.
It's those horrid lemon-colored chrysanthemums; they have turned your head.”
”I don't know about that,” retorted Miss Peters. ”I am sure I saw Mrs.
Bell's snuff-colored bonnet.”
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