"Yes."
"The one that was in Paris?"
"Yes."
"I wonder at your father's lettin' you go. They say it's an awful wicked city, and I hear it's nip and tuck whether a person comes home as good as she went."
"I didn't find it so."
"Maybe not. Still, it's risky and I don't think much of folks that don't find America good enough for 'em. You look hot. Come in and get a drink of water."
Inside the house and with a glass of water in her hand, Phebe felt that it devolved upon her to make some efforts at conversation.
"You said you were worse, last night; didn't you? What were the symptoms?" she asked, between her sips.
"What's generally the symptoms? I felt sick and wanted to keel over."
"Had you been—?"