The Andrews sit on the same side of the aisle and ahead of us, so all I can see is the back of Mistress’ head. When the ceremony ends and she turns to file out however, she gives me one brief look of glacial anger and disdain. When I see her and Mr. Andrews head downstairs afterwards, I’m eager for the first time ever to join the informal socialization session, if only to return her look with one of silent pleading and contrition.
This at least I manage to do, but it earns me no softening of her regard. Though she circulates through the other parishioners with her cup of coffee she remains taciturn, and when she and her husband join my parents and me she barely says hello and goodbye, and avoids looking at me entirely. In fact, she’s so quiet and distant that my parents remark upon this
