"I didn't say there was anything the matter, did I?" Mrs. West's ill humor seemed to be gaining on her. "I s'pose if a body wants to lie down for a while—in her own room—after her day's work is done—her neighbors haven't any real call to make a fuss."
The amazed Persis continued in a kneeling position, her bewilderment rendering her incapable of movement.
"You mean that you're lying here—because you like it?"
"On a warm day," said Mrs. West with dignity, "a floor's cooler than a bed and it saves mussing the spread."
Persis studied her thoughtfully. "I can't say you look cool, Mis'
West. I guess I never saw you so fire-red as you are at this minute.
But if that's your idea of having a good time, why, every one to his
taste, as the old woman said when she kissed the cow."
She rose with a dignity that matched Mrs. West's own and moved toward the door. "Maybe you remember that you had an appointment for a fitting at two," she suggested coldly, "I brought your dress over, but of course if you're busy enjoying yourself—"
"Persis Dale," cried Mrs. West, her voice breaking, "I didn't think you had it in you to be so hard-hearted."
Slowly Persis retraced her steps. Her prostrate friend was weeping. Large impressive tears rolled slowly over cheeks whose fiery hue suggested the possibility that each drop might immediately be converted into steam.
"Mis' West," began Persis in a tone of strained patience, "will you please tell me if you've taken leave of your senses or what?"
Mrs. West's tears flowed faster. Hysterical tremors agitated the recumbent mass. "I—I can't get up," she exploded at length, in seemingly reluctant confidence.