me that nice women talk

“Well, go to sleep then,” she answered, disappointment in her tones. Then as the doctor leaned over to remove his boots, her voice spoke from the darkness with renewed cheerfulness. “I imagine Dolly has gotten it all out of old man Merriwether and she can tell me about it.” 　“Good Heavens, Mrs. Meade! Do you mean to tell me that nice women talk about such things among them—” 　“Oh, go to bed,” said Mrs. Meade. 　 　It sleeted the next day, but as the wintry twilight drew on the icy particles stopped falling and a cold wind blew. Wrapped in her cloak, Melanie went bewilderedly down her front walk behind a strange negro coachman, who had summoned her mysteriously to a closed carriage waiting in front of the house. As she came up to the carriage the door was opened and she saw a woman in the dim ulterior. 　Leaning closer, peering inside, Melanie questioned: “Who is it? Won’t you come in the house? It’s so cold—” 　“Please come in here and set with me a minute, Miz Wilkes,” came a faintly familiar voice, an embarrassed voice from the depths of the carriage. 　“Oh, you’re Miss—Mrs.—Watling!” cried Melanie. “I did so want to see you! You must come in the house.” 　“I can’t do that, Miz Wilkes.” Belle Watling’s voice sounded scandalized. “You come in here and set a minute with me.” 　Melanie entered the carriage and the coachman closed the door behind her. She sat down beside Belle and reached for her hand. 　“How can I ever thank you enough for what you did today! How can any of us thank you enough!” 　“Miz Wilkes, you hadn’t ought of sent me that note this mornin’. Not that I wasn’t proud to have a note from you but the Yankees might of got it. And as for sayin’ you was goin’ to call on me to thank me—why, Miz Wilkes, you must of lost your mind! The very idea! I come up here as soon as ‘twas dark to tell you you mustn’t think of any sech thing. Why, I—why, you—it wouldn’t be fittin’ at all.” 　“It wouldn’t be fitting for me to call and thank a kind woman who saved my husband’s life?”