"Didn't you see her?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yes, I saw her."
He passed a hand over his forehead and smoothed his hair in a way he had, ending the gesture at the back of his neck.
"How'd she look, Jerry? What was she doing?"
"Why," said Jerry, narrowing his eyes, as if he recalled a picture he had found incredible, "she was playing croquet out in the front yard."
"But how'd she look?"
"Why, she's a kind of a dark-complexioned woman. She wears spe'tacles. She's"—he paused there an instant and caught his breath—"she's pretty fleshy."
"Was she nice to you?"
"Yes, she was nice. She meant to be real nice and kind. She made me"—a spasm twitched his face, and he concluded—"she made me play croquet."
They stood there in the wood loneliness, dapples of sunlight flickering on them through the leaves. Marietta felt a strange wave of something rushing over her. It might have been mirth, or indignation that somebody had destroyed her old friend's paradise; but it threatened to sweep her from her basis of control.