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house. They came out into the hall from the rooms on both sides as Laurel walked in. Most of them had practiced-for smiles on their faces, and they all called her “Laurel McKelva,” just as they always called her. Here at his own home, inside his own front door, there was nobody who seemed to be taken by surprise at what had happened to Judge McKelva. Laurel seemed to remember that Presbyterians were good at this.
    But there was a man’s deep groan from the dining room, and Major Bullock came swinging out into the hall, cutting through the welcomers, protesting. “I’m not even going to have it, I say. He was never sick a day in his life!” Laurel went to meet him and kissed his flushed cheek.
    He was the only man here. It might have been out of some sense of delicacy that the bridesmaids and the older ladies, those who were not already widows, had all made their husbands stay home tonight. Miss Tennyson, who had relieved Laurel of her handbag and crushed gloves, smoothed back the part into her hair. She had been Laurel’s mother’s oldest friend, the first person she’d met when she came to Mount Salus as a bride.
    Now she gave a sidelong glance at Tish and asked her, “Did Mr. Pitts manage to catch Fay?”
    “He’s going to return her to us by-and-by.” Tish mocked him perfectly.
    “Poor little woman! How is she taking it, Laurel?” asked Major Bullock.
    At last she said, “I don’t think I can safely predict about Fay.”
    “Let’s not make Laurel try,” suggested Miss Adele Courtland.
    Miss Tennyson led Laurel into the dining room. The bridesmaids had been setting out a buffet. On the little side table, where Major Bullock, standing with his back to them, was quickly finishing up something,was the drinks tray with some bottles and glasses. Laurel found herself sitting at her old place at the dinner table, the only one seated, while everybody else was trying to wait on her. Miss Tennyson stood right at her shoulder, to make her eat.
    “What are all these people doing in my house?”
    That was Fay’s voice in the hall.
    “You’ve got pies three deep in the pantry, and an icebox ready to pop,” said Miss Tennyson, going out to meet her. “And a dining room table that might keep you from going to bed hungry.”
    “Well, I didn’t know I was giving a reception,” said Fay. She came as far as the dining room doors and stared in.
    “We’re Laurel’s friends, Fay,” Tish reminded her. “The six of us right here, we were her bridesmaids.”
    “A lot of good her bridesmaids will ever do me. And who’s making themselves at home in my parlor?” She crossed the hall.
    “Fay, those are the last, devoted remnants of the old Garden Club, of which I’m now president,” said Miss Tennyson. “Here now for—for Laurel’s mother’s sake.”
    “What’s Becky’s Garden Club got to do with me?” exclaimed Fay. She stuck her head inside the parlor door and said, “The funeral’s not till tomorrow.”
    “They’re a hard bunch to put off till tomorrow,” said Miss Tennyson. “They picked their flowers and they brought ’em.”
    Laurel left her chair and went out to Miss Tennysonand the gathering ladies. “They’re all Father’s friends, Fay. They’re exactly the ones he’d have counted on to be here in the house to meet us,” she said. “And I count on them.”
    “Well, it’s evermore unfair. I haven’t got anybody to count on but me, myself, and I.” Fay’s eyes travelled to the one man in the gathering and she accused him. “I haven’t got one soul.” She let out a cry, and streaked up the stairs.
    “Poor little woman, she’s the helpless kind,” said Major Bullock. “We’re going to have to see about her.” He looked around him, and there were the suitcases, still standing near the front door. Three of them: one was Judge McKelva’s. Major Bullock loaded himself and walked upstairs with them. When he came back, almost immediately, his step was even heavier.