At dinner Ethan could not eat. If he lifted his eyes they rested on Zeena's pinched face, and the corners of her straight lips seemed to quiver away into a smile. She ate well, declaring that the mild weather made her feel better, and pressed a second helping of beans on Jotham Powell, whose wants she generally ignored.
Mattie, when the meal was over, went about her usual task of clearing the table and washing up the dishes. Zeena, after feeding the cat, had returned to her rocking-chair by the stove, and Jotham Powell, who always lingered last, reluc- tantly pushed back his chair and moved toward the door.
On the threshold he turned back to say to Ethan: "What time'll I come round for Mattie?"
Ethan was standing near the window, mechan- ically filling his pipe while he watched Mattie move to and fro. He answered: "You needn't come round; I'm going to drive her over myself."
He saw the rise of the colour in Mattie's averted cheek, and the quick lifting of Zeena's head.
"I want you should stay here this afternoon, Ethan," his wife said. "Jotham can drive Mattie over."
