I imagined his arrival in our kitchen and how he would explode the sensational news upon his unsuspecting wife.
But I was not altogether calm, though I did my best to appear so, when I entered that kitchen at a quarter past twelve.

Lute was seated in a chair by the window, evidently watching and waiting.

He sprang up as I entered.
"Set down," ordered Dorinda, who was taking a clam pie from the oven.
She merely nodded when I came in.

Dorinda often spoke in meeting against "sinful pride"; yet she had her share of pride, sinful or not.

She would not ask questions or deign to appear excited, not she.
"But Dorinda," cried her husband, "it's Ros.