“I can unbutton it myself, thank you,” said Lady Joan. Tembarom took it when she had unbuttoned it. He took it from her shoulders before she had time to stop him. Then he walked into the tiny “wash 'us” and shook it thoroughly. He came back and hung it on a chair before the fire.
Tummas was leaning back in his pillows and gazing at her.
“I know tha name,” he said. “He towd me,” with a jerk of the head toward Tembarom.
“Did he?” replied Lady Joan without interest.
A flaringly illustrated New York paper was spread out upon his sofa. He pushed it aside and pulled the shabby atlas toward him. It fell open at a map of North America as if through long habit.
“Sit thee down,” he ordered.
Tembarom had stood watching them both.
“I guess you'd better not do that,” he suggested to Tummas.
“Why not?” said the boy, sharply. “She's th' wench he was goin' to marry. It's th' same as if he'd married her. If she wur his widder, she'd want to talk about him. Widders allus wants to talk. Why shouldn't she? Women's women. He'd ha' wanted to talk about her.”
“Who is `he'?” asked Joan with stiff lips.