She was able, however, to talk while she played, and pointed out various things which did not "go quite right" at the wedding.
The parlor at Dale house was as exact and dreary as the garden.

The whole room suggested to Lois, watching her aunt play solitaire, and the motes dancing in the narrow streaks of sunshine which fell between the bowed shutters, and across the drab carpet to the white wainscoting on the other side, the pictures in the Harry and Lucy books, or the parlor where, on its high mantel shelf, Rosamond kept her purple jar.
She wondered vaguely, as Mrs.Dale moved her cards carefully about, whether her aunt had ever been "bothered" about anything.

Helen's marriage seemed only an incident to Mrs.Dale; the wedding and the weather, the dresses and the presents, which had been a breathless interest to Lois, were apparently of no more importance to the older woman than the building up a suit.
"Well," Mrs.Dale said, when she had exhausted the subject of the wedding, "I'm sure I hope it will turn out well, but I really can't say.
Ever since I've seen this Mr.Ward I've somehow felt that it was an experiment.

In the first place, he's a man of weak will,--I'm sure of that, because he seems perfectly ready to give way to Helen in everything; and that isn't as it ought to be,--the man should rule! And then, besides that, whoever heard of his people?
Came from the South somewhere, I believe, but he couldn't tell me the first name of his great-grandfather.

I doubt if he ever had any, between ourselves.