He glanced at Sylvia, and she, as a woman, seemed entirely beyond his comprehension.
The whole great house was sweet with flowers.

Neighbors had sent the early spring flowers from their door-yards, and Henry and Sylvia had bought a magnificent wreath of white roses and carnations and smilax.
They had ordered it from a florist in Alford, and it seemed to them something stupendous--as if in some way it must please even the dead woman herself to have her casket so graced.
"When folks know, they won't think we didn't do all we could," Sylvia whispered to Henry, significantly.

He nodded.

Both were very busy, even with assistance from the neighbors, and a woman who worked out by the day, in preparing the house for the funeral.

Everything had to be swept and cleaned and dusted.
When the hour came, and the people began to gather, the house was veritably set in order and burnished.