It was nearly five o'clock when she stopped at the Marshalls' gate. The front of the house was closed, but nothing daunted, she made her way round to the kitchen door, which was open. Elviry answered her rap.
"Oh, it's Lydia," she said, brusquely. "What do you want?"
"I brought Marg some flowers," answered Lydia, awkwardly.
Elviry hesitated. "Margery's been having a headache and I don't know as she'd want to see you."
Lydia was not entirely daunted. "Well, if you're getting supper you might let me come and sit in the kitchen a few minutes. It's quite a walk in from the cottage."
Elviry opened the screen door and Lydia marched in and paused. Dave Marshall was sitting by the kitchen table, his hat on the back of his head, a pile of newspapers on the floor beside him. He did not speak to Lydia when she came in, but Lydia nodded brightly at him and said, "You like to sit in the kitchen, the way Dad does, don't you?"
She sat down in the rocker by the dining-room door and Elviry began to stir a kettle of catsup that was simmering on the back of the stove.
This was worse than Lydia had thought it would be. She had not calculated on Dave's being at home. However, her fighting blood was up.
"You haven't asked me about my clothes, Mrs. Marshall," she said.
"Don't you think I did pretty well with this skirt?"
Elviry glanced at the blue serge skirt. "It'll do," she answered listlessly.