Bill removed his pipe, a slow smile on his gaunt face.
"What cows?" demanded Charles.
"Ghost cows, Charles. Not in your lexicon. But we felt them in that old barn, behind those stanchions."
When they had gone, Charles followed Catherine into the dining room, gathered a handful of coffee cups, and walked after her into the disorderly kitchen.
"What'd you think of her?" he asked, casually.
"Her being the cat?" Catherine grinned at him. She was at ease again, confident, the sense of nonentity gone.
"Oh, Stella Partridge, of course. Fine person, isn't she! No nonsense about her. Mind like a man's."
"Is it?" Catherine stacked the dishes in the sink.
"Has the qualities which are conventionally labeled masculine. Like that better?"
The clatter of the garbage pail cover served for Catherine's answer.