"Musta rained pretty hard here," he ventured, as, noticing the damage that the damp grass was doing to his trouser hems, he covered the remaining distance between them in a series of violent haphazard leaps.
The hairpin rendered her response unintelligible.
"How d'you find things?" gaining her side, and a bit more calmly.
Mary Louise deliberately tucked in one last recalcitrant wisp and pinned it down, and then turned to him. "Pretty well." Her gaze was level and critical.
"Aunt Sue better?"
She nodded. Then she turned and slowly walked within the inclosure of the summerhouse and sat down. He followed her and stood framed in the doorway.
"What's the gloom?" he asked directly, after a moment of silence.
"Nothing," she said, a little too brightly.
"Not interrupting anything, am I?"
Disregarding this: "What are you doing in Bloomfield?"