"There isn't any to-day; it's cloudy," Phebe could not help putting in,
demurely, but no one paid any attention, except that Mrs. Upjohn turned
on her an unworded expression of: "If I say so, it is so whether or no."

An animated debate on cake followed, in the middle of which Mrs. Lane
reappeared with a trayful of cookies hot from the oven; and two more
callers came in, Bell Masters and Dick Hardcastle, which last first woke
up Miss Lydia with a boisterous kiss, frightening the poor soul half to
death by assuring her she had been snoring so that he heard her way down
street, and then devoted himself to the cookies with a good-will and
large capacity that filled one with compassionate feelings toward his
mother's larder. With these new and younger elements the talk varied a
little. They discussed last night's party, the supper, the dresses, the
people, and then the probabilities of to-night's party, the people, the
dresses, the supper. And then Dick made a sensation by saying right out,
that he had just met Mr. Upjohn on Main Street with Mrs. Bruce, holding a
parasol gallantly over her head. And everybody looked at once at Mrs.
Upjohn, and then back at the graceless Dick, and an awful silence
succeeded, broken by Mrs. Upjohn's reaching out her hand and saying in
the tone of a Miss Cushman on the stage: "Dick, dear, I'll take another
cookie." If Mr. Upjohn chose to walk down town shielding women's
complexions for them, why in the world should she trouble herself about
it, beyond making sure that he did not by mistake take her parasol for
the kindly office? And so the talk went on, people coming and people
going, and Mrs. Lane did up a whole basketful of work undisturbed, and
Phebe inwardly chafed and fumed and longed for dinner-time, that at last
the ceaseless, aimless chatter might come to an end.

She went to the party that night, because in Joppa everybody had to go