By ones and twos the
fragments drifted to the breakfast table. Barrow tried to bring Tracy
in; but he said:
"Not yet, Barrow--presently."
Mrs. Marsh and Hattie tried, offering gentle and kindly persuasions; but
he said;
"I would rather wait--till he comes."
Even old Marsh began to have suspicions that maybe he had been a trifle
too "brash," as he called it in the privacy of his soul, and he pulled
himself together and started toward Tracy with invitation in his eyes;
but Tracy warned him off with a gesture which was quite positive and
eloquent. Then followed the stillest quarter of an hour which had ever
been known in that house at that time of day. It was so still, and so
solemn withal, that when somebody's cup slipped from his fingers and
landed in his plate the shock made people start, and the sharp sound
seemed as indecorous there and as out of place as if a coffin and
mourners were imminent and being waited for. And at last when Brady's
feet came clattering down the stairs the sacrilege seemed unbearable.
Everybody rose softly and turned toward the door, where stood Tracy;
then with a common impulse, moved a step or two in that direction, and
stopped. While they gazed, young Brady arrived, panting, and put into
Tracy's hand,--sure enough--an envelope.
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