“I must be going,” he said. “Well,” she answered awkwardly, “I’m sorry you won’t try my coffee.” For a moment more they lingered uncertainly, their real selves staring forth wistfully through the formality that their conventional selves were hastily assuming, like friendly children being dragged apart by stiff grown-ups. Then she began to sweep again, and he, with a constrained gesture toward his hat, went on his way. X Later in that month of June, Aunt Sadie Johnson gave a supper party. She said it did look like she ought to do something for Mr. Seabrook: which was merely a thin excuse, as she was a Presbyterian herself and therefore owed no hospitality to the new Methodist minister. She was, however, obsessed with the idea of finding a husband for Julie, although she was not as frank about it as Mrs. Dolly Anderson. With this in view, she had meant to ask only Julie and Brother Seabrook, but Elizabeth Bixby got wind of the small festivity and saw to it that she was included. “She invited herself: she didn’t get no bid from me,” Aunt Sadie told Julie. “Oh, well, the poor thing, I reckon she’s lonesome, so we might as well have her; an’ anyhow we’ll give that poor little Bixby man a good feed for once in his life--good, that is, as Mr. Hoover’ll allow. We’ll have waffles anyhow. I reckon we can use that much flour this once, seein’ ’s I’ve eat almost nothing but corn bread all summer. I’ll get you to come in early an’ make ’em, Julie; you make the best waffles in town.” Julie had no desire to meet Brother Seabrook so intimately and so soon again after her encounter with him in the church, but she could not screw her courage up to explain the matter even to Aunt Sadie. She blushed all over at the very thought of it now, merely in her own mind. So there was no escape for her. Accordingly, on the night of the supper she dressed early and went through to her hostess’s part of the house, to help set the table and to beat up the waffles. “My, Julie! You look mighty nice in that little sprigged dress,” Aunt Sadie hailed her. “That little touch of blue just suits you. It helps to bring out the color of your eyes. I’ll bet your preacher takes notice.” “Oh, no, he won’t!” Julie hastily replied. “That is,” she stammered, flushing, “I hope he won’t.” “Oh, Julie, you’re so _young_,” Aunt Sadie told her tolerantly. “I don’t know what it is about you--you ain’t really young no more, an’ you don’t exactly look young; but someway you just seem to make every one think of you as nothin’ but a child.”