unexpected happened.

As we reached the gate we saw the whole bunch sitting in the wide, cool
hall--Sister reading aloud, Sister Edwina making tatting, and Miss Lily
Lou peeling a peach for Mother from a basket on the table beside her,
and I was going to pass by and just bow to Mother as pleasantly and
politely as I could (she was the only one who saw us), when to my
surprise she got up and ordered me to stop by a wave of her hand. I
stopped. She does not approve of me. She thinks it very indelicate in
me to accept the attentions of one whose engagement had so recently
been broken, and, while she will never recover from stupefaction that
Elizabeth should disagree with her son, she attributed that action on
Elizabeth's part to lack of sense and does not hesitate to say so, just
as she has not hesitated to say things about me that were not as
Christian as they might have been. She knew, however, what was
expected of Twickenham Town and that personal feelings were to be paid
no attention to where politeness was concerned, and with a sort of
scepter movement she beckoned to me and commanded us to come in. We
went.

It is a queer thing how nice disagreeable people can be when they want
to, and that morning the entire Eppes family (even Sister Edwina, who's
the limit) were so polite and pleasant that Father never would have
imagined how cocky and sniffy they usually are. I behaved as well as
they did, and when we came away I couldn't remember a thing I had said
that I shouldn't. We didn't stay but half an hour. I wouldn't have
held out a whole hour, and neither would they, and so, after we had
seen all the beautiful old things downstairs and been introduced to all
the painted ancestors, I got away quick, for Miss Anna was showing
signs I didn't think were safe. They don't know that they worship