Dolly leant back. The relics of a frown still dwelt on her brow; presently, however, she began to swing her hat on her forefinger, and she threw a look at me. I immediately looked up toward the branches above my head.
“We might as well go in to lunch,” said Dolly.
“By all means,” I acquiesced, with alacrity.
We went out into the sunshine, and came where the pots were. Suddenly Dolly said:
“Go back and sit down again, Mr. Carter.”
“I want my lunch,” I ventured to observe.
“Do as I tell you,” said Dolly, stamping her foot; whereat, much intimidated, I went back, and stretched myself once more on the deck chair.
Dolly approached a flower pot. She stooped down, exerting her strength, lifted it, and carried it, not without effort, across the terrace.
Again she did the like. I sat smoking and watching. She lifted a third pot, but dropped it half way. Then, dusting her hands against one another, she came back slowly into the shade and sat down. I made no remark.
Dolly glanced at me.