Susan was at the meeting and from Susan she would learn all that might
there transpire. About half-past five she began to glance out of the
window which looked furthest down the street, and some ten minutes
later her watching was rewarded by the sight of Miss Clegg and another
lady approaching slowly. An animated conversation appeared to be in
progress between the two, and at the gate of Mrs. Lathrop's dearest
friend they made a long halt while the latter appeared to be laying
down some form of law with uncommon vigor and pointing its points off
with her knitting, which she waved about in a manner unwontedly
reckless.

Mrs. Lathrop--having not only spilt more during the afternoon, but
also been twice the victim of what is technically known as "boiling
over"--felt quite unable to make a third at the gate party, and so was
forced to masticate her impatience and hover in the window until Susan
turned at last and came up her walk.

"Can you come--" then called the eager waiter.

"Not till after I get my supper," the other replied.

Mrs. Lathrop sighed, and forced herself to further patience. It was
all of seven when Miss Clegg finally came over.

"I'll sit on the steps," she announced. "Bein' 's we're such friends,
Mrs. Lathrop, I may 's well say right here 'n' now 't I would n't sit
down in your kitchen this night for no money. I'd carry the spots till
I died most likely 'n' have no one but myself to blame f'r it. You may
not thank me f'r sayin' it to your face, but it isn't in me to deceive
so much 's a water-bug, 'n' 'f I live to be a hunderd I c'd never