“What’s the matter, maw?” said Isaphene, coming up suddenly. “Never you mind what’s the matter,” said her mother, sharply, to conceal her emotion. “You get to bed, an’ don’t bother your head about what’s the matter of me.” Then she went down the hall and entered her own room; and Isaphene heard the key turned in the lock. THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT “Why, mother, where are you a-goin’, all dressed up so?” Mr. Sybert stood in the bedroom door and stared at his wife’s ample back. There was a look of surprise in his blue eyes. Mrs. Sybert stooped before the bureau, and opened the middle drawer, taking hold of both handles and watching it carefully as she drew it toward her. Sometimes it came out crookedly; and every one knows that a drawer that opens crookedly, will, in time, strain and rub the best bureau ever made. From a red pasteboard box that had the picture of a pretty actress on the cover, Mrs. Sybert took a linen handkerchief that had been ironed until it shone like satin. After smoothing an imaginary wrinkle out of it, she put it into her pocket, set her bonnet a little further over her forehead, pushing a stray lock sternly where it belonged, adjusted her bonnet-strings, which were so wide and so stiff that they pressed her ears away from her head, giving her a bristling appearance, and buttoned her gloves with a hair-pin; then, having gained time and decided upon a reply, she said, cheerfully, “What’s that, father?” “Well, it took you a right smart spell to answer, didn’t it? I say, where are you a-goin’, all dressed up so?” Mrs. Sybert took her black silk bag with round spots brocaded upon it, and put its ribbons leisurely over her arm. “I’m a-goin’ to see Mis’ Nesley,” she said. Her husband’s face reddened. “What’s that you say, mother? You’re a-goin’ to do _what_? I reckon I’m a-goin’ a little deef.” “I’m a-goin’ to see Mis’ Nesley.” Mrs. Sybert spoke calmly. No one would have suspected that she was reproaching herself for not getting out of the house ten minutes sooner. “He never’d ’a’ heard a thing about it,” she was thinking; but she looked straight into his eyes. Her eyelids did not quiver. The red in Mr. Sybert’s face deepened. He stood in the door, so she could not pass. Indeed, she did not try. Mrs. Sybert had not studied signs for nothing during the thirty years she had been a wife. “I reckon you’re a-foolin’, mother,” he said. “Just up to some o’ your devilment!” “No, I ain’t up to no devilment, father,” she said, still calmly. “You’d best let me by, now, so’s I can go; it’s half after two.” “D’ you mean to say that you’re a-ne’rnest? A-talkin’ about goin’ to see that _hussy_ of a Mis’ Nesley?” “Yes, I’m a-ne’rnest,” said Mrs. Sybert, firmly. “She ain’t a hussy, as I know of. What you got agin ’er, I’d like to know?”