"Oh, my dear, are you ill? Pardon my coming right up, but the cook
takes so long and I was so worried for fear you were--but you aren't,
are you?"
Mrs. Budlong was at bay. She glared at the intruder and threw up her
chin. Johnetta stared at her aghast.
"Why, my dear! you aren't mad at me, are you?"
Mrs. Budlong smiled bitterly, and said nothing. Johnetta shrilled:
"Why, what have I done?"
As a matter of fact, what had she done? All that Mrs. Budlong could
think of was her husband's unused suggestion for a war with Sally
Swezey. She spoke through locked teeth:
"It's not what you've done but what you've said."
"Why, what have I said?"
"You know well enough what you've been saying behind my back, and you
needn't think that people don't come and tell me. I name no names, but
I know! Oh, I know!"
Now, of course, everybody says things behind everybody else's back that
nobody would care to have repeated to anybody. Through Johnetta
Ackerley's memory dashed a hundred caustic comments she had made on
Mrs. Budlong. She blushed and sighed, turned away and closed the door
after her, like the last line of an elegy.
A surge of triumph swept over Mrs. Budlong. Success at last.
Then the door opened and Johnetta reappeared on the sill with a look of
angelic contrition.
"I hardly know what to say," she said.
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