The blood surged to Natalya's eyes, so that she could hardly see.
'Old clo',' she said mechanically.
'No, thank you,' replied the young woman. Her voice was sweet, but it sounded to Natalya like the voice of Lilith, stealer of new-born children. Her rosy cheek seemed smeared with seductive paint. In the background glistened the dual crockery of the erst pious kitchen which the new-comer profaned. And between Natalya and it, between Natalya and her grandchildren, this alien girlish figure seemed to stand barrier-wise. She could not cross the threshold without explanations.
'Is Mr. Elkman at home?' she asked.
'You know the name!' said the young woman, a little surprised.
'Yes, I have been here a good deal.' The old woman's sardonic accent was lost on the listener.
'I am sorry there is nothing this time,' she replied.
'Not even a pair of old shoes?'
'No.'
'But the dead woman's——? Are you, then, standing in them?'