Sally which might almost have passed for eagerness, as they walked away
together; poor Sally lifting one quick deprecating look at Hetty's
smiling and inexorable face. Deacon Little hastily retreated to a
corner, where he stood wiping his forehead, endeavoring not to look
alarmed, and thinking to himself:

"Well, if Hetty don't beat all! What'll Mrs. Little do now, I wonder?"
And presently, as cautiously as a man stalking a deer, he followed the
couple, and tried to judge, by the expression of his wife's face, how
things were going. Things were going very well. Mrs. Little had, in
common with all weak and obstinate persons, a very foolish fear of ever
being supposed to be dictated to or controlled by anybody. She was
distinctly aware that Hetty had checkmated her. She had strong
suspicions that there might be others looking on who understood the
game; and the only subterfuge left her, the only shadow of pretence of
not having been outwitted, was to appear as if she were glad of the
opportunity of talking with Sally. Sally's appealing affectionateness
of manner went very far to make this easy. She had no resentment to
conceal: all these years she had never blamed Jim's mother; she had only
yearned to win her love, to be permitted to love her. She looked up in
her face now, and said, as they walked on:

"Oh! I did so want to speak to you, but I did not dare to."

It consoled weak Mrs. Little, for her present consciousness of being
very much afraid of Hetty, to hear that she herself had inspired a great
terror in some one else; and she answered, condescendingly:

"I have always wished you well,"--she hesitated for a word, but finally
said,--"Sally."