At the tea table Mrs. Douglas gracefully asked Janet to pour the tea.  Janet turned redder than ever but did it.  Anne wrote a description of that meal to Stella.

“We had cold tongue and chicken and strawberry preserves, lemon pie and tarts and chocolate cake and raisin cookies and pound cake and fruit cake—­and a few other things, including more pie—­caramel pie, I think it was.  After I had eaten twice as much as was good for me, Mrs. Douglas sighed and said she feared she had nothing to tempt my appetite.

“‘I’m afraid dear Janet’s cooking has spoiled you for any other,’ she said sweetly.  ’Of course nobody in Valley Road aspires to rival her.  Won’t you have another piece of pie, Miss Shirley?  You haven’t eaten anything.’

“Stella, I had eaten a helping of tongue and one of chicken, three biscuits, a generous allowance of preserves, a piece of pie, a tart, and a square of chocolate cake!”

After tea Mrs. Douglas smiled benevolently and told John to take “dear Janet” out into the garden and get her some roses.  “Miss Shirley will keep me company while you are out—­won’t you?” she said plaintively.  She settled down in her armchair with a sigh.

“I am a very frail old woman, Miss Shirley.  For over twenty years I’ve been a great sufferer.  For twenty long, weary years I’ve been dying by inches.”

“How painful!” said Anne, trying to be sympathetic and succeeding only in feeling idiotic.

“There have been scores of nights when they’ve thought I could never live to see the dawn,” went on Mrs. Douglas solemnly.  “Nobody knows what I’ve gone through—­nobody can know but myself.  Well, it can’t last very much longer now.  My weary pilgrimage will soon be over, Miss Shirley.  It is a great comfort to me that John will have such a good wife to look after him when his mother is gone—­a great comfort, Miss Shirley.”

“Janet is a lovely woman,” said Anne warmly.

“Lovely!  A beautiful character,” assented Mrs. Douglas.  “And a perfect housekeeper—­something I never was.  My health would not permit it, Miss Shirley.  I am indeed thankful that John has made such a wise choice.  I hope and believe that he will be happy.  He is my only son, Miss Shirley, and his happiness lies very near my heart.”

“Of course,” said Anne stupidly.  For the first time in her life she was stupid.  Yet she could not imagine why.  She seemed to have absolutely nothing to say to this sweet, smiling, angelic old lady who was patting her hand so kindly.

“Come and see me soon again, dear Janet,” said Mrs. Douglas lovingly, when they left.  “You don’t come half often enough.  But then I suppose John will be bringing you here to stay all the time one of these days.”  Anne, happening to glance at John Douglas, as his mother spoke, gave a positive start of dismay.  He looked as a tortured man might look when his tormentors gave the rack the last turn of possible endurance.  She felt sure he must be ill and hurried poor blushing Janet away.