“I’m jest as much obliged to her, but I feel as if I’d better be goin’.”  Mrs. Field stood before him, mildly unyielding.  She seemed to waver toward his will, but all the time she abided toughly in her own self like a willow bough.  “But, Mrs. Maxwell, what can you do?” said the lawyer, his manner full of perplexity, and impatience thinly veiled by courtesy.  “The hotel here is not very desirable, and—­”

“Can’t I go right up to—­the house?”

“The Maxwell house?”

“Yes, sir; if there ain’t anything to hinder.”

Mr. Tuxbury stared at her.  “Why, I don’t know that there is really anything to hinder,” he said, slowly.  “Although it is rather—­ No, I don’t know as there is any actual objection to your going.  I suppose the house belongs to you.  But it is shut up.  I think you would find it much pleasanter here, Mrs. Maxwell.”  His eyebrows were raised, his mouth pursed up.

“I guess I’d better go, if I can jest as well as not; if I can get into the house.”  Mrs. Field spoke with deprecating persistency.

Mr. Tuxbury turned abruptly toward his desk, and began fumbling in a drawer.  She stood hesitatingly watchful.  “If you would jest tell me where I’d find the key,” she ventured to remark.  She had a vague idea that she would be told to look under a parlor blind for the key, that being the innocent country hiding-place when the house was left alone.

“I have the key, and I will go to the house with you myself directly.”

“I hate to make you so much trouble.  I guess I could find it myself, if—­”

“I will be ready immediately, Mrs. Maxwell,” said the lawyer, in a smoothly conclusive voice which abashed her.

She stood silently by the door until he was ready.  He took her black bag peremptorily, and they went side by side down the street.  He held his head well back, his lips were still tightly pursed, and he swung his cane with asperity.  His important and irascible nature was oddly disturbed by this awkwardly obstinate old woman stalking at his side in her black clothes.  Feminine opposition, even in slight matters, was wont to aggravate him, but in no such degree as this.  He found it hard to recover his usual courtesy of manner, and indeed scarcely spoke a word during the walk.  He could not himself understand his discomposure.  But Mrs. Field did not seem to notice.  She walked on, with her stern, impassive old face set straight ahead.  Once they met a young girl who made her think of Lois, her floating draperies brushed against her black gown, for a second there was a pale, innocent little face looking up into her own.

It was not a very long walk to the Maxwell house.

“Here we are,” said the lawyer, coldly, and unlatched a gate, and held it open with stiff courtesy for his companion to pass.

They proceeded in silence up the long curve of walk which led to the front door.  The walk was brown and slippery with pine needles.  Tall old pine trees stood in groups about the yard.  There were also elm and horse-chestnut trees.  The horse-chestnuts were in blossom, holding up their white bouquets, which showed dimly.  It was now quite dusky.