Minnie, sitting in the arbor, walled in and roofed over by closely set grape-leaves through which only a dim green light of day filtered, taking dainty stitches on the hem of a muslin gown for herself, a charming muslin pattern with delicate little flowers scattered as on a summer field, heard every word. She could not help it. She could not make her presence known without causing a most unpleasant shock of embarrassment both to herself and others. She had not had time to escape, because the remark came like an explosive, and she did not even get a whiff of the cigar smoke until afterward.
“Marry Minnie!” proclaimed the masculine voice. “Marry Minnie, Wilbur! Why don't you propose that I marry a doll and be done with it?”
In reply came a voice which Minnie loathed. It was the voice of a man, but it had an almost feminine softness of tone. “My dear fellow,” said that voice, “Minnie is not such a doll as you think.”
“Looks like one, acts like one,” returned the other voice, which was manly, although full of unproven authority. That was the voice of the Rev. Edward Yale, the young minister who boarded with Minnie's widowed mother and her widowed sister, Mrs. Emma Prior; not in any sense with Minnie. Minnie never had any voice in household arrangements. She was much younger than her sister Emma, and she had been the child of her mother's more than middle age. She had been a petted darling of her old father, who had died the year before, and for whom she was just leaving off mourning. She was always the petted darling of her mother and sister, but being a petted darling sometimes involves a slight underestimation, even unconscious contempt. Petting implies superiority; being petted may imply inferiority, although a beloved and graceful inferiority.
Minnie continued to listen. She stopped sewing. “She is not at all,” said the unpleasant voice, which belonged to Wilbur Bates. She and Wilbur had been schoolmates, and he had always, she supposed, been in love with her, and she had certainly never been in love with him, had been more and more repelled as they grew older. Now his defense of her was hateful as his expressions of distaste could never have been. She knew just the expression of Wilbur's face as he spoke—his long, blond face, with its thin, much-curved mouth and his narrowing blue eyes. “Minnie has a great deal of character,” said Wilbur. “I have known her all my life, and I am sure of it.”
“It is well concealed, then,” said Edward Yale. He certainly spoke as no gentleman should have spoken regarding a woman who, whatever her faults of character, had always treated him well.
“All strong character is apt to be well concealed,” replied Wilbur Bates. The two had stopped just beside Minnie's arbor, and were seated, smoking, on the stone wall which separated the garden from the adjoining estate.
“I rather take issue with you regarding that,” said Edward Yale.
“I say, I am sure.”
Edward made no reply. A stronger whiff of cigar smoke penetrated the arbor.
“I have never,” continued Edward Yale in a crescendo of authority, “known a really strong character which was not indicated in some way by the face.”
“You can never be quite sure what soft pink curves and dimples conceal,” replied Wilbur.
Now Edward Yale laughed a pleasant, arrogant, boyish laugh. “In dolls they usually conceal sawdust,” said he.
Minnie turned pale. That was too much. It was even unchristian for a minister of the gospel to assume that any human being was stuffed with sawdust. She sat still, almost rigid. The young minister spoke of something else, but Wilbur persistently brought the conversation back to herself. Then she knew that Wilbur knew she was within hearing and compelled to listen to his praises and the other man's disdain.
Minnie did not take another stitch. Her heart beat like a trapped thing, but her wrath served as a stimulus. Her soft, curved cheeks bloomed again. Minnie had a temper which sustained her and which, although unholy, was a resource.
She sat perfectly still. She reasoned that the two men could not talk forever, sitting there on the stone wall. She knew that Mr. Yale could not have finished his sermon, although it was Saturday afternoon. He had procrastinating habits. As for Wilbur, who was a man of leisure and wealth, he could remain if he chose, but she was sure that he would leave when Mr. Yale did. He would not choose that Minnie should know that he had been conducting this discussion for her benefit.