their convenience, if not for hers, the doctors decreed that Mrs. Foster must be in a hospital, and that she must receive no visitors. Old Mrs. Overton suffered with her daughter, but she revived the pleasant old custom of pouring the breakfast coffee from her own silver urn, and Mr. Foster was delighted. She carried the pantry keys, and the silver-closet keys, and the linen-room keys; she went to market alone; she went shopping alone. All the ladies of high position, and all the officers of all Mrs. Foster’s clubs came to call on Mrs. Overton—to ask about Mrs. Foster, of course, but even on such occasions other subjects are discussed, and Mrs. Overton must be cheered and strengthened for the ordeal she was undergoing. Then William Overton was mercifully released from his sufferings. And then Mrs. Foster was mercifully released from her longer sufferings.
Old Mrs. Overton had received hundreds of notes. She had scores of callers, and she had felt herself able to receive them all—decorously, in her own bedroom, one or two at a time. Her fortitude was considered remarkable. She had ordered delicate lunches for the faithful friends who were downstairs receiving the wreaths and the sheaves of Mrs. Overton’s other friends and of all her societies. And she had ordered her own veil of the best English crêpe.
The choir was singing “Asleep in Jesus,” and Mrs. Foster’s
funeral was nearly over. Mrs. Overton began to look about
a little, under the shadow of her veil. She was thinking of
all the visitors she would have the next day and the next
week; of the days the granddaughters-in-law and the great-grandchildren would spend with her, of the birthday party
she would give for little Cornelia in the spring—Mrs. Foster
would want her namesake to have the party she had promised
her. She was thinking of all the people who would beg her
and Mr. Foster to come and have dinner with them, very
quietly—since they, too, had loved Mrs. Foster.
And then Mrs. Overton happened to look across the aisle at Mrs. Turner, and Mrs. Turner was looking beyond her at Mr. Foster. Mrs. Turner’s look was only a decorous look of heartfelt sympathy, but Mrs. Overton suddenly felt cold and forlorn. She remembered how attentive Mrs. Turner had been to her and to Mr. Foster. And she remembered that
