“Oh, don’t speak of it!” said Mrs. Spicer. She seemed to greet her hostess, shed her outer garments, perch herself on a little, straight-backed sofa, and take her cup of tea at one and the same moment with a swiftness of movement accelerated in her further speech, which tumbled forth like a small cataract. “Don’t speak of it, no one knows what I went through last summer, when you were at the seashore and _your_ coal was laid in. I couldn’t sit on the piazza _at all_, and the thermometer was in the nineties. At the end of the third day I nearly had nervous prostration. Ernest Spicer was really worried about me. _I_ never find it any economy to lay in a stock of coal; you use it up so much faster; it seems as if you were paying out for enough to last you until you died, and then, just at the time you didn’t count on taking the money for it you have to buy more. If we laid in a _mine_ full in July we’d have to order coal in February.” “Well, I wish I were laying it in now,” interposed Mrs. Laurence deftly, with a sigh. “Mr. Laurence ordered some this morning, and it hasn’t come yet. I would have sent a message to Harner’s, but I have been expecting the coal wagon every moment.” “I saw your husband speaking to Mrs. Lalor as I came back from the butcher’s,” said Mrs. Stone. She paused significantly. “Isn’t she the most noticeable thing you ever saw! She never seems to have any morning clothes.” “I don’t believe she has any money for new ones,” suggested Mrs. Laurence gently. “No, I don’t suppose she _has_, but even then—— Of course, I’m sorry for her, we all are; every one knows what Mr. Lalor is, but do you know, the other day when I attempted to allude to all that she must have to bear up under—I felt so sympathetic towards her, after what the Bents told us—she stiffened up at once; she acted as if she hadn’t the slightest idea of what I was driving at. Now _that’s_ absurd. To hear Mrs. Lalor talk about ‘Bennie’ you’d think he was the king-pin, as Mr. Stone expresses it.” “Oh, but I think that’s really fine of her,” said Mrs. Laurence, with proselyting zeal. “There’s a courage, a devotion about her that always appeals to me; you can’t help seeing that she’s had such a hard time. I’m sure if you knew her better you’d like her.” “She may be devoted to her husband,” said Mrs. Spicer very fast, “but if you’d see her going in on the train—Ernest Spicer says he always avoids her when he _can_; he does hate to be made conspicuous. I don’t care whether she comes of a good family or not; _I_ think she’s common.” Mrs. Laurence shook her head wisely. “I’m sure that you’re mistaken, not that I’m so well acquainted with her myself, but still——” She took occasion later on to detain Mrs. Stone whisperingly a moment by the front door as both visitors were making their exit.