"Mr. Haas, I—I must go now. My—mother—"
He took her arm, winding her in and out among crowded-out chairs behind the dais.
"I wish it to every mother to have a daughter like you, Mrs. C."
"No! No!" she said, stumbling rather wildly through the chairs. "No! No!
No!"
He forged ahead, clearing her path of them.
Beside the potted hydrangea, well back and yet within an easy view, Mrs. Horowitz, her gilt armchair well cushioned for the occasion, and her black grenadine spread decently about her, looked out upon the scene, her slightly palsied head well forward.
"Mama, you got enough? You wouldn't have missed it, eh? A crowd of people we can be proud to entertain. Not? Come; sit quiet in another room for a while, and then Mr. Haas, with his nice big car, will drive us all home again. You know Mr. Haas, dearie—Lester's uncle that had us drove so careful in his fine car. You remember, dearie—Lester's uncle?"
Mrs. Horowitz looked up, her old face crackling to smile.
"My grandchild! My grandchild! She'm a fine one. Not? My grandchild! My grandchild!"
"You—mustn't mind, Mr. Haas. That's—the way she's done since—since she's—sick. Keeps repeating—"