When she followed her husband into Mrs. Sloane’s house she felt herself as burdened with shame—­as if she stood in Rebecca’s place.  Her little face, all blue with the sharp cold, shrank, shocked and sober, into the depths of her great hood.  She stood behind her husband, her narrow girlish shoulders bending under her thick mantilla, and never looked at the face of anybody in the room.

She did not see William at all.  He stood up before them as they entered; they all nodded gravely.  Nobody spoke but Mrs. Sloane, vibrating nervously in the midst of her clamorous hens, and Barney silenced her.

“We’ll go right in,” he said, in a stern, peremptory tone; then he turned to William.  “Are you ready?” he asked.

William nodded, with his eyes cast down.  The party made a motion towards the other room, but Mrs. Sloane unexpectedly stood before the door.

“I told her there shouldn’t nobody come in,” said she, “an’ I ain’t goin’ to have you all bustin’ in on her without she knows it.  She’s terrible upset.  You wait a minute.”

Mrs. Sloane’s blue eyes glared defiantly at the company.  The minister’s wife bent her hooded head lower.  She had heard about Mrs. Sloane, and felt as if she were confronted by a woman from Revelation and there was a flash of scarlet in the room.

“Go in and tell her we are coming,” said Barney.  And Mrs. Sloane slipped out of the room cautiously, opening the door only a little way.  Her voice was heard, and suddenly Rebecca’s rang out shrill in response, although they could not distinguish the words.  Mrs. Sloane looked out.  “She says she won’t be married,” she whispered.

“You let me see her,” said Barney, and he took a stride forward, but Mrs. Sloane held the door against him.

“You can’t,” she whispered again.  “I’ll talk to her some more.  I can talk her over, if anybody can.”

Barney fell back, and again the door was shut and the voices were heard.  This time Rebecca’s arose into a wail, and they heard her cry out, “I won’t, I won’t!  Go away, and stop talking to me!  I won’t!  Go away!”

William turned around, and hid his face against the corner of the mantel-shelf.  Barney went up and clapped him roughly on the shoulder.  “Can’t you go in there and make her listen to reason?” he said.

But just then Mrs. Sloane opened the door again.  “You can walk right in now,” she announced, smiling, her thin mouth sending the lines of her whole face into smirking upward curves.

The whole company edged forward solemnly.  Mrs. Sloane was following, but Barney stood in her way.  “I guess you’d better not come in,” he said, abruptly.

Mrs. Sloane’s face flushed a burning red.  “I guess,” she began, in a loud voice, but Barney shut the door in her face.  She ran noisily, stamping her feet like an angry child, to the fireplace, caught up a heavy kettle, and threw it down on the hearth.  The hens flew up with a great clamor and whir of wings; Mrs. Sloane’s shrill, mocking laugh arose above it.  She began talking in a high-pitched voice, flinging out vituperations which would seem to patter against the closed door like bullets.  Suddenly she stopped, as if her ire had failed her, and listened intently to a low murmur from the other room.  She nodded her head when it ceased.