It makes a woman feel cold to think of him full dressed there, as if he was goin' to be a soldier on the Day o' Judgement!' To let people speak was a maxim of Mrs.Mel's, and a wise one for any form of society when emotions are very much on the surface.

She continued her arrangements quietly, and, having counted the number of plates and glasses, and told off the guests on her fingers, she, sat down to await them.
The first one who entered the room was her son.
'You have come,' said Mrs.Mel, flushing slightly, but otherwise outwardly calm.
'You didn't suppose I should stay away from you, mother ?' Evan kissed her cheek.
'I knew you would not.' Mrs.Mel examined him with those eyes of hers that compassed objects in a single glance.

She drew her finger on each side of her upper lip, and half smiled, saying: 'That won't do here.' 'What ?' asked Evan, and proceeded immediately to make inquiries about her health, which she satisfied with a nod.
'You saw him lowered, Van ?' 'Yes, mother.' 'Then go and wash yourself, for you are dirty, and then come and take your place at the head of the table.' 'Must I sit here, mother ?' 'Without a doubt--you must.

You know your room.

Quick!' In this manner their first interview passed.
Mrs.Fiske rushed in to exclaim: 'So, you were right, aunt--he has come.