“Disturb me?  She knows it won’t disturb me.  Show her in at once.  And Jane, you can get tea ready half-an-hour earlier than usual.  I daresay, as Mrs. Morris has called she’d like a cup.  How do you do, Mrs. Morris?  I’m right glad to see you, right glad.  Sit here, in this chair—­or perhaps you’d rather sit in this one; this isn’t too near the window.  And you’ll like a screen, I know;—­not that there’s any draught—­for these windows fit as tight as tight when shut.”

Mrs. Morris was a thin, tall woman.  She always spoke in a whisper, for she was possessed of the belief that she had lost her voice in bronchitis.  She had not, for when she scolded any one she found it again.  She was not scolding now, however, and her tones were very low and smothered.

“I saw her coming in, my dear; I was standing at the back of the wire blind, and I saw her going up your steps, so I thought I’d come across quickly and hear the news.  You’ll tell me the news as soon as possible, won’t you?  Mrs. Butler and Miss Peters are coming to call in a few minutes.  I met them and they told me so.  They saw her, too.  You’ll tell me the news quickly, Lucy, for I’d like to be first, and it seems as if I had a right to that much consideration, being an old friend.”

“So you have, Jessie.”

Mrs. Meadowsweet looked immensely flattered.

“I suppose you allude to Mrs. Bertram having favored me with a call,” she continued, in a would-be-humble tone, which, in spite of all her efforts, could not help swelling a little.

“Yes, dear, that’s what I allude to; I saw her from behind the wire screen blind.  We were having steak and onions for dinner, and the doctor didn’t like me jumping up just when I had a hot bit on my plate.  But I said, it’s Mrs. Bertram, Sam, and she’s standing on Mrs. Meadowsweet’s steps!  There wasn’t a remonstrance out of him after that, and the only other remark he made was, ’You’ll call round presently, Jessie, and inquire after Mrs. Meadowsweet’s cold.’  So here I am, my dear.  And how is your cold, by the way?”

“It’s getting on nicely, Jessie.  Wasn’t that a ring I heard at the door bell?”

“Well, I never!” Mrs. Morris suddenly found her voice.  “If it isn’t that tiresome Mrs. Butler and Miss Peters.  And now I won’t be first with the news after all!”

Mrs. Meadowsweet smiled again.

“There really isn’t so much to tell, Jessie.  Mrs. Bertram was just affable like every one else.  Ah, and how are you, Mrs. Butler?  Now, I do call this kind and neighborly.  Miss Peters, I trust your cough is better?”

“I’m glad to see you, Mrs. Meadowsweet,” said Mrs. Butler, in a slightly out-of-breath tone.

“My cough is no better,” snapped Miss Peters.  “Although it’s summer, the wind is due east; east wind always catches me in the throat.”

Miss Peters was very small and slim.  She wore little iron-gray, corkscrew curls, and had bright, beady black eyes.  Miss Peters was Mrs. Butler’s sister.  She was a snappy little body, but rather afraid of Mrs. Butler, who was more snappy.  This fear gave her an unpleasant habit of rolling her eyes in the direction of Mrs. Butler whenever she spoke.  She rolled them now as she described the way the east wind had treated her throat.