“Who’s that comin’?” asked Mrs. Babcock.

“I guess it’s old Mr. Maxwell’s brother Henry’s wife,” replied Mrs. Field.

She arose.  Lois went quickly and softly out of the other door.  She felt sure that exposure was near, and her first impulse was to be out of sound and hearing of it.  She sat there in the dark on the front door-step awhile, then she went into the house.  Sitting there in doubt, half hearing what might be dreadful to hear, was worse than certainty.  She had at once a benumbing terror and a fierce desire that her mother should be betrayed, and withal a sudden impulse of loyalty toward her, a feeling that she would stand by her when everybody else turned against her.

She crept in and sat down.  Mrs. Maxwell was talking to Mrs. Babcock about the state of the church in Elliot.  It was wonderful that this call was made without exposure, but it was.  Twice Mrs. Maxwell called Jane Field “Esther,” but nobody noticed it except Amanda, and she said nothing.  She only caught her breath each time with a little gasp.

Mrs. Maxwell addressed herself almost wholly to Mrs. Babcock concerning her daughter, her daughter’s husband, and the people of Elliot.  Mrs. Babcock constantly bore down upon her, and swerved her aside with her own topics.  Indeed, all the conversation lay between these two.  There was a curious similarity between them.  They belonged apparently to some one subdivision of human nature, being as birds of the same feather, and seemed to instinctively recognize this fact.

They were at once attracted, and regarded each other with a kind of tentative cordiality, which might later become antagonism, for they were on a level for either friendship or enmity.

Mrs. Maxwell made a long call, as she was accustomed to do.  She was a frequent visitor, generally coming in the evening, and going home laden with spoil, creeping from cover to cover like a cat.  She was afraid to have her daughter and nephew know of all the booty she obtained.  She had many things snugly tucked away in bureau drawers and the depths of closets which she had carried home under her shawl by night.  Jane Field was only too glad to give her all for which she asked or hinted.

To-night, as Mrs. Maxwell took leave of the three strange women standing in a prim row, she gave a meaning nod to Mrs. Field, who followed her to the door.

“I was thinkin’ about that old glass preserve-dish,” she whispered.  “I don’t s’pose it’s worth much, but if you don’t use it ever, I s’pose I might as well have it.  Flora has considerable company now, an’ ours ain’t a very good size.”

When Mrs. Maxwell had gone out of the yard with the heavy cut-glass dish pressed firmly against her side under her black silk shawl, Jane Field felt like one who had had a reprieve from instant execution, although she had already suffered the slow torture.  She went back to her guests as steady-faced as ever.  She was quite sure none of them had noticed Mrs. Maxwell’s calling her Esther, but her eyes were like a wary animal’s as she entered the room, although not a line in her long pale face was unsteady.