A sharp ring at the bell brought Catherine to her feet. Perhaps Charles had forgotten his key. But as she hurried down the hall, she heard a shrill guffaw from Sam, and the elevator slid rapidly out of sight as she opened the door.
"Why, Flora! Come in."
Flora, hastening to drag a lugubrious expression over the wide grin Sam had evidently provoked, shook her head, the stiff purple flowers on her large hat rattling like hail.
"No'm, I ain't coming in," she said. "I came to ask a favor of you, Mis' Hammond. You well, and the children?"
"Yes, we're all well." Catherine recalled the dejected, bruised Flora she had last seen. Bruises and dejection had vanished; Flora was resplendent in a spotted yellow polo coat, a brilliantly striped scarf displayed over one shoulder, and—Catherine almost laughed aloud—arctics, flapping about plump white silk-stockinged legs. But she was uneasy; the olive-whites of her eyes shone, and her gold tooth flashed.
"Mis' Hammond, you knows what I done told you, about that worthless puhfessional man." She thrust her hands deep into her pockets, trying to swagger a little. "You recollects? I don' want to bother you, but he's the worstest man. He's tryin' to ruin my character."
"I thought you had him put in prison."
"Yessum. But he's bailed out. An' the case is postponed, while he works against me. He's provin' that I was bad, and let my li'l girl run wild. They shut her up." Flora scrambled for a handkerchief, and rubbed vigorously at her eyes. "My lawyer fr'en, he says if I can get proof about my character, then that man won't stand no trial. He tole me to get a proof from you, Mis' Hammond. You know I worked hard, don't you?"
"What kind of proof, Flora? There, don't cry. Of course I'll help you."
"My lawyer fr'en, he says you should write it out about me. A kinda paper, all about how I done work for you. With your name and where you lives on it. Then you don' have to come to court, you just writes it down on a paper."