Moran pushed back his chair.
“I must catch my train, Mrs. Stickney. I always enjoy my suppers with you. They remind me of suppers I used to eat at grandmother’s farm.”
“It’s a good thing for men to git reminded of their grandmothers once in a while,” she answered, cryptically.
“You’re coming to see me to the door, Marie?” Moran said. It seemed to Jim more a command than a question. Marie obeyed, and the man and girl left the room.
Jim emptied his coffee-cup, which was not a thing to do quickly when the widow had made the coffee. Indeed not! One sipped and tasted and stopped betweenwhiles to think on the aroma of it. Presently Jim set down his empty cup.
“More?” asked the widow.
“Thank you, no.”
Jim moved back his chair. He was frowning at the tablecloth abstractedly.
“Hum!” said the widow. It was a very significant, expressive hum, an eloquent hum, but, withal, a hum that needed further elucidation before it became wholly and perfectly clear.
“The difference between girls,” she said, “is that most of them is just ordinarily foolish.”