And when Malena comes,
get her started in the kitchen: show her where everything is."
She waved her hand, as she set out for a corner where the cars
stopped. "Everything'll be lovely. Don't forget about Walter."
Nevertheless, Alice forgot about Walter for a few minutes. She
closed the door, went into the "living-room" absently, and stared
vaguely at one of the old brown-plush rocking-chairs there. Upon
her forehead were the little shadows of an apprehensive reverie,
and her thoughts overlapped one another in a fretful jumble. "What
will he think? These old chairs--they're hideous. I'll scrub
those soot-streaks on the columns: it won't do any good, though.
That long crack in the column--nothing can help it. What will he
think of papa? I hope mama won't talk too much. When he thinks
of Mildred's house, or of Henrietta's, or any of 'em, beside this--
She said she'd buy plenty of roses; that ought to help some.
Nothing could be done about these horrible chairs: can't take 'em
up in the attic--a room's got to have chairs! Might have rented
some. No; if he ever comes again he'd see they weren't here.
'If he ever comes again'--oh, it won't be THAT bad! But it won't
be what he expects. I'm responsible for what he expects: he
expects just what the airs I've put on have made him expect.
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