"You hear, Mrs. Schump? Is it any wonder she don't get out? All I got to do is say the word, and any friend of mine is welcome in Gert Cobb's house."
"I'll make you up them five yards of pink mull for it, Stella. It's a shame that pretty dress-pattern from your two birthdays ago has never had the occasion to be made up. It's nice of Cora to be puttin' herself out."
"Look at 'er, like I was asking her to a funeral!"
"There's such a pretty sash I been savin' to make up with that mull, Cora. A handsome black-moiré length of ribbon off a beaded basque her father gimme our first Christmas married."
"I'll lend her my pink pearls to wear. Honest, I never knew a girl could wear pink like Stella."
Miss Schump leaned forward in the lamplight, the myriad of tight little braids at angles, but her eyes widening to their astounding blueness.
"Not your—pink beads, Cora?"
"You heard me the first time, didn't you? 'Pink' was what I said."
"Ma!"
"Now ain't that nice of Cora?"