“Is that so?” he said with interest. People were not usually interested in Julie’s small remarks. “Well, I reckon I must be going,” he added, conscious now of Maida’s severe eyes upon them. He made an uncertain gesture toward his hat and turned away. As he raised his arm, Julie caught sight of a rip in his sleeve. “I don’t see why in the name of goodness that woman can’t keep him mended up!” her thoughts ejaculated angrily. VI The following Sunday after service, Julie was formally presented to Mr. and Mrs. Bixby. She had gone to church in an agony of apprehension. Would Brother Seabrook call on her again to pray? Or did he know now that she was afraid? And did everybody else know? The thought made her feel like an outcast, yet she was so terrified that she would have liked to go to Brother Seabrook before church and beg him not to call upon her. She pictured herself doing it; she even made up in her mind the words with which to clothe her request; but in the end she could not bring herself to do it. Instead, she went late and slipped into a back pew. He did not call upon her, but all through the service she suffered an agony of dread, and when it was over, and she rose with the rest to leave, she felt as though every eye was fixed on her in contempt. Outside the church she encountered a little group of people who were being introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Bixby. Mrs. Sam Wicket had taken upon herself the responsibility of presenting the strangers to the congregation. “Miss Rose, make you acquainted with Mis’ Bixby,” she said, catching Julie by the arm as she came down the steps, and holding her firmly before the other, as though she might otherwise escape. “Miss Rose, pleased to meet you,” the newcomer said; and Julie found herself looking up into the face of Elizabeth Bixby, while their hands touched for a moment. Dressed for her first public appearance in Hart’s Run, Mrs. Bixby was at once more amiable and more overpowering than the cross and disheveled woman whom Julie had seen on the train. An exotic perfume new to the village hung about her. Her green silk dress shimmered in the sun, her feet were squeezed into high-heeled pumps with flashing buckles, while from her ears big green hoops depended, accentuating the breadth and bold commonness of her face, and shaking and gleaming as she turned her head from side to side. She was much taller than Julie, so that she had to look down at her. “I recollect seeing you on the train, the day we got here,” she announced. “And that’s Mr. Bixby,” Mrs. Wicket added--rather as an afterthought. Julie turned and looked into Timothy Bixby’s face as their hands came together for the first time. His was cold from shyness, and Julie knew that hers must feel the same way. Neither of them spoke. “You must excuse my husband,” Mrs. Bixby said with elaborate jocularity. “The cat got his tongue when he was real little, an’ he’s been dumb ever since.”