THE FEMININE VIEWPOINT

by and about women

THE LEAST OF THESE

by Frankie Almitra

"Of course," Mrs. Dusney's birdlike voice went on, "It's really none of my business, Emily." She paused, letting the sentence hang delicately in mid-air. Obviously, Milly was expected to make some sort of reply, but she could think of nothing, so she remained silent, a polite, attentive expression fixed rigidly on her features.

Mrs. Dusney waited a moment.

"More tea?" she said. "No? Well, I think I'll have just a tiny bit more, myself." She tilted the pot over her cup. The pot trembled in her hand, and some of the liquid splashed over onto the table.

"Old." Milly thought, "she's getting so old." The movement of Mrs. Dusney's ample bosom under its pale grey covering fascinated her. Grey dress, grey room, grey manner. . . suddenly she felt nauseated.

Outside was sunshine and brightness, the sound of girls' laughter, the chatter of girls' voices.

"Anyway," the old, dry voice like rasping of leaves against a sidewalk went on, "as I said, the way in which you raise your daughter is no concern of mine. Except, of course, except in relation to the SCHOOL." Her voice went on rising and falling regularly, senselessly, just so much sheep's bleating.

The school. Always it had been the school. Milly could shut her eyes and see Mrs. Dusney as she had been twenty years before; younger, slimmer, straighter, but no difference, really. Still the same tight lips. the same berry-black eyes, the cane that could fall across fingers with snake-like swiftness.

"Emily Cochran, WILL you stop whispering!” And then the cane.

Only now, it was Emily Creighton, and it was twenty years later, and they were discussing Mike, lovely, laughing Mike, her daughter.

She jerked her mind back, back across the years into now, back to what Mrs. Dusney was saying.

you, my dear, were always a good student. beyond the usual childish pranks. A good student and a good girl."

"Thank you," Milly murmured.

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