She rushed into the parlor, and there was Ida swaying back and forth in her rocking-chair, and there were three ladies with her.
One was Mrs.Jonas White; one was a very smartly dressed woman, Mrs.
Adams, perhaps the most intimate friend whom Ida had in Edgham; one was the wife of the minister whose church the Edghams attended, Mrs.
Applegate, or, as she was called, Mrs.Dr.Applegate--her husband had a degree.

Her sister had just died and she was dressed in the deepest mourning; sitting in the shade in a corner, she produced a curious effect of a vacuum of grief.

Mrs.Adams, who was quite young and very pretty, stout and blond, was talking eagerly; Mrs.Jonas White was sniffing quietly; Mrs.Applegate, who was ponderously religious, asked once in a while, in a subdued manner, if Mrs.Edgham did not think it would be advisable to unite in prayer.
Ida made no reply.

She continued to rock, and she had a curious set expression.

Her lips were resolutely compressed, as if to restrain that radiant smile of hers, which had become habitual with her.