That word "want" made Charlotte writhe and was probably accountable for the extra acidity of her reply:
"Yes, unless you're tongue-tied," she returned.
When dinner was over and the dishes washed and put away (Miss Upton's Sunday suit being enveloped in a huge gingham apron during the performance), Miss Mehitable watched solicitously to see if Charlotte manifested any symptoms of going out for a constitutional. She asked herself, with a good deal of severity, why she should dread to inform Mrs. Whipp of her own plan for the afternoon.
"I guess I'm free, white, and twenty-one," thought Miss Upton. But all the same she continued to cast furtive glances at Mrs. Whipp, who showed every sign of relapsing into a rocking-chair with Pearl in her lap.
"It's a real pleasant day, Charlotte," she said. "Ain't you goin' to walk?"
Mrs. Whipp yawned. "Dunno as I am."
"I've got to go out again," pursued Miss Mehitable intrepidly, but she felt the dull gaze that at once turned and fixed upon her. "I've got to see Ben Barry about some business that came up in the city yesterday."
"I knew you had something on your mind last night," returned Mrs. Whipp, triumphantly. "I notice you wouldn't tell me."
"You ain't a lawyer, Charlotte Whipp."
"Neither is that young whipper-snapper," rejoined the widow, "but then of course he's a Barry."