“Just take that chair by the window, Mrs. Harricutt,” she said affably, “and excuse me fer not getting up. I've got to get these apples on the fire, for I promised Mark some apple sauce for lunch, and he likes it stone cold.”
Mrs. Harricutt pricked up her ears:
“Oh, Mark is coming home for lunch then!” Her voice was cold, sharp, like a steel knife dipped in lemon juice. There was a bit of a curl on the tip of it that made one wince as it went through the soul. Little Mrs. Carter flushed painfully under her sensitive skin, up to the roots of her light hair. She had been pretty in her girlhood, and Mark had her coloring in a stronger way.
“Oh, yes, he's coming home for lunch,” she answered brightly, glad of this much assurance. “And he has to have it early because he has to drive that str
