as sure of this as I was that poor Mrs. Latouche was not absolutely too bereaved to listen to her. It seemed to me discreet to retire; I said I believed I would go and take a walk before dinner.
"And, by the way," I added, "if you will tell me where my old friend Miss Spencer lives, I will walk to her house."
The minister's wife immediately responded. Miss Spencer lived in the fourth house beyond the Baptist church; the Baptist church was the one on the right, with that queer green thing over the door; they called it a portico, but it looked more like an old-fashioned bedstead.
"Yes, do go and see poor Caroline," said Mrs. Latouche. "It will refresh her to see a strange face."
"I should think she had had enough of strange faces!" cried the minister's wife.
"I mean, to see a visitor," said Mrs. Latouche, amending her phrase.
"I should think she had had enough of visitors!" her companion rejoined. "But you don't mean to stay ten years," she added, glancing at me.
"Has she a visitor of that sort?" I inquired, perplexed.
"You will see the sort!" said the minister's wife. "She's easily seen; she generally sits in the front yard. Only take care what you say to her, and be very sure you are polite."
"Ah, she is so sensitive?"
