"Well?" she said.
"I've—er—Miss Myrtle?" sparkled Joe, conquering the vapours.
"Not in," said Mrs. Macomber shortly.
Joe fell back a step. The shadows swept down upon him. For a moment he was at a loss for words. "But—Mrs. Macomber—we were going to Stony Point this afternoon!" He was aghast, and he bared his feelings to the world before he sank in the engulfing sea of negation. "Are you sure?"
Mrs. Macomber smiled grimly. "My eyes haven't gone back on me entirely, I reckon."
Joe stepped up to the level of the porch which stood inviting off to the right. "Listen, Mrs. Macomber," he began, striving to be respectful. "What's wrong?" In the face of the threatening debacle he could not calmly let matters drift. He felt himself rushing into action.
Mrs. Macomber considered and then apparently made up her mind. She opened the door and stepped out upon the vine-covered porch. For a moment she stood facing him as if taking in her ground. There was something deep and lurking and resentful in her narrow eyes.
"Well, I'll tell you," she began. "You've been taking up a mighty lot of Myrtle's time here, lately."
He sinkingly realized the truth of this statement as he felt the fixity of her gaze. He was silent. The front door opened over to his left, but he was too absorbed to notice. There was a sound of someone stirring in the vestibule.
Mrs. Macomber did not like his silence. She had decided on conflict. "A man's got no right to take up a girl's time unless he means right by her. Just because a girl's good lookin' 's no sign she's a play-thing for any Tom, Dick, or Harry comes along."