“Well, goodbye, Mrs Norris! Won’t you come and lunch with us. I don’t mean come out to our house. Only let me know, and lunch with me anywhere you like, in town.”
“Thank you my dear! Thank you so much! Well! I’ll see!”
Mrs Norris was almost regal, stonily, Aztec-regal.
At last they had all made their adieus, and the great doors were shut behind them.
“How did you come out!” Mrs Burlap asked, impertinent.
“In an old Ford taxi—but where is it?” said Kate, peering into the dark. It should have been under the fresno trees opposite, but it wasn’t.
“What a curious thing!” said Owen, and he disappeared into the night.
“Which way do you go?” said Mrs Burlap.
“To the Zócalo,” said Kate.
“We have to take a tram, the opposite way,” said the baby-faced, withered woman from the Middle-West.