In any other town she would have been taught what divorce-courts were made for; but Trega society was Episcopalian, and that communion is healthily and conservatively monogamous.
And so Rhodora Boyd, that once was Rhodora Pennington, died in her little house, and her pet old maid closed her eyes. And there was an end of Rhodora. Not quite an end, though.
Scene. — The Public Library of Trega. Mrs. George Lister and Mrs. John Lang are seated in the Rotunda. Mr. Libriver, the Librarian, advances to them with books in his hands.
Mrs. Lister. – Ah, here comes Mr. Libriver, with my “Intellectual Life.” Thank you, Mr. Libriver – you are always so kind!
Mrs. Lang. – And Mr. Libriver has brought me my “Status of Woman.” Oh, thank you, Mr. Libriver.
Mr. Libriver, a thin young man in a linen duster, retires, blushing.
Mrs. Lister. – Mr. Libriver does so appreciate women who are free from the bondage of the novel. Did you hear about poor Rhodora’s funeral?
Mrs. Lang (with a sweeping grasp at the intellectual side of the conversation). – Oh, I despise love-stories. In the church? Oh, yes, I heard. (Sweetly). Dr. Homly told me. Doesn’t it seem just a little – ostentatious?
Mrs. Lister. – Ostentatious – but, do you know, my dear, there are to be eight pall-bearers!
Mrs. Lang (turning defeat into victory). – No, I did not know. I don’t suppose that ridiculous old maid, that Miss Wimple, who seems to be conducting the affair, dared to tell that to Dr. Homly. And who are they?
Mrs. Lister (with exceeding sweetness). – Oh, I don’t know, dear. Only I met Mr. Townsend, and he told me that Dr. Homly had just told him that he was one of the eight.
Mrs. Lister. – Dexter Townsend! Why, it’s scandalous. Everybody knows that he proposed to her three times and that she threw him over. It’s an insult to – to —
Mrs. Lang. – To poor dear Alma Townsend. I quite agree with you. I should like to know how she feels – if she understands what it means.
Mrs. Lister. – Well, if I were in her place —
Enter Mrs. Dexter Townsend.
Mrs. Townsend. – Why, Ellen! Why, Mary! Oh, I’m so glad to meet you both. I want you to lunch with me to-morrow at one o’clock. I do so hate to be left alone. And poor Rhodora Pennington – Mrs. Boyd, I mean – her funeral is at noon, and our three male protectors will have to go to the cemetery, and Mr. Townsend is just going to take a cold bite before he goes, and so I’m left to lunch —
Mrs. Lang (coldly). – I don’t think Mr. Lang will go to the cemetery —
Mrs. Lister. – There is no reason why Mr. Lister —
Mrs. Townsend. – But, don’t you know? – They’re all to be pall-bearers! They can’t refuse, of course.
Mrs. Lang (icily). – Oh, no, certainly not.
Mrs. Lister (below zero). – I suppose it is an unavoidable duty.
Mrs. Lang. – Alma, is that your old Surah? What did you do to it?
Mrs. Lister. – They do dye things so wonderfully nowadays!
Scene. – A Verandah in front of Mr. McCullom McIntosh’s house. Mrs. McCullom McIntosh seated, with fancy work. To her, enter Mr. William Jans and Mr. Milo Smith.
Mrs. McIntosh (with effusion). – Oh, Mr. Jans, I’m so delighted to see you! And Mr. Smith, too! I never expect to see you busy men at this time in the afternoon. And how is Laura? – and Millicent? Now don’t tell me that you’ve come to say that you can’t go fishing with Mr. McIntosh to-morrow! He’ll be so disappointed!
Mr. Jans. – Well, the fact is —
Mrs. McIntosh. – You haven’t been invited to be one of poor Rhodora Boyd’s pall-bearers, have you? That would be too absurd. They say she’s asked a regular party of her old conquests. Mr. Libriver just passed here and told me – Mr. Lister and John Lang and Dexter Townsend —
Mr. Jans. – Yes, and me.
Mrs. McIntosh. – Oh, Mr. Jans! And they do say – at least Mr. Libriver says – that she hasn’t asked a man who hadn’t proposed to her.
Mr. Jans (Dutchily). – I d’no. But I’m asked, and —
Mrs. McIntosh. – You don’t mean to tell me that Mr. Smith is asked, too? Oh, that would be too impossible. You don’t mean to tell me, Mr. Smith, that you furnished one of Rhodora’s scalps ten years ago?
Mr. Smith. – You ought to know, Mrs. McIntosh. Or – no – perhaps not. You and Mac were to windward of the centre-board on Townsend’s boat when I got the mitten. I suppose you couldn’t hear us. But we were to leeward, and Miss Pennington said she hoped all proposals didn’t echo.
Mrs. McIntosh. – The wretched c – but she’s dead. Well, I’m thankful Mac – Mr. McIntosh never could abide that girl. He always said she was horribly bad form – poor thing, I oughtn’t to speak so, I suppose. She’s been punished enough.
Mr. Smith. – I’m glad you think so, Mrs. McIntosh. I hope you won’t feel it necessary to advise Mac to refuse her last dying request.
Mrs. McIntosh. – What —
Mr. Smith. – Oh, well, the fact is, Mrs. McIntosh, we only stopped in to say that as McIntosh and all the rest of us are asked to be pall-bearers at Mrs. Boyd’s funeral, you might ask Mac if it wouldn’t be just as well to postpone the fishing party for a week or so. If you remember – will you be so kind? Thank you, good afternoon.
Mr. Jans. – Good afternoon, Mrs. McIntosh.
Mrs. Sloan. – Why, that surely isn’t one of the new napkins! – oh, it’s the evening paper. Dear me! how near-sighted I am getting! (Takes it and opens it.) You may put those linen sheets on the top shelf, Bridget. We’ll hardly need them again this Fall. Oh, Bridget – here’s poor Mrs. Boyd’s obituary. You used to live at Colonel Pennington’s before she was married, didn’t you?
Bridget. – I did that, Mum.
Mrs. Sloan (reading). – “Mrs. Boyd’s pall-bearers are fitly chosen from the most distinguished and prominent citizens of Trega.” I’m sure I don’t see why they should be. (Reads.) “Those invited to render the last honors to the deceased are Mr. George Lister – “
Bridget. – ’Tis he was foriver at the house.
Mrs. Sloan (reads). – “Mr. John Lang – “
Bridget. – And him.
Mrs. Sloan (reads). – “Mr Dexter Townsend – “
Bridget. – And him, too.
