Flora Maxwell is thinkin' of."

Mrs. Maxwell greeted her friends at the door with a dignified bustle,
showed them into her bedroom to lay aside their bonnets; then she
introduced them to Mrs. Field and Lois in the parlor.

"There!" said she; "now I've got to let you entertain each other a
few minutes. I've got something to see to. Flora she's stepped out,
an' I guess she's forgot how late 'tis."

After Mrs. Maxwell had left the room, the guests sat around with a
kind of solemn primness as if they were in meeting; they seemed
almost hostile. The elder of the new-comers took out her knitting,
and fell to work. She was a tall, pale, severely wrinkled woman, and
a ruffled trimming on her dress gave her high shoulders a curiously
girlish air. Finally the woman who had come with her asked pantingly
how Mrs. Field liked Elliot, and if she thought it changed much. The
color flashed over her little face, with its softly scalloping
profile, as she spoke. Her hair was crimped in even waves. She wore
nice white ruching in her neck and sleeves, and flat satin folds
crossed each other exactly over her flat chest. Her nervous
self-consciousness did not ruffle her fine order, and she did not
smile as she spoke.

"I like it pretty well," replied Mrs. Field. "I dunno as I can tell
whether it's changed much or not." She knitted fast.

"The meetin'-house has been made over since you was here,"
volunteered the elder woman. She did not look up from her knitting.