She looked queer--a little.

There were two red spots in her cheeks, and her eyes were very bright.
"I think you have a letter here from--your father," she said, handing it out.
She hesitated before the "your father" just as she always does.

And 'tisn't hardly ever that she mentions his name, anyway.

But when she does, she always stops a funny little minute before it, just as she did to-day.
And perhaps I'd better say right here, before I forget it, that Mother has been different, some way, ever since that time when the violinist proposed.

I don't think she _cares_ really--about the violinist, I mean--but she's just sort of upset over it.