Primmie came home first. “Miss Martha said to tell you she would be over in a few minutes,” she announced. “Cap'n Jeth, he's a-comin' around all right, so Miss Martha and Zach and them think. But, my savin' soul, how he does hang onto Lulie! Keeps a-sayin' she's all he's got that's true and honest and—and all that sort of talk. Give me the crawlin' creeps to hear him. And after that seance thing, too! When that everlastin' foghorn bust loose the first time, I cal'lated—”
Galusha interrupted. “Primmie,” he suggested, gravely, “would you—will you be—ah—kind enough to go into the kitchen?”
“Hey? Go into the kitchen? Course I will. What do you want in the kitchen, Mr. Bangs?”
He regarded her solemnly. “I should like to have you there, if you don't mind,” he observed. “This gentleman and I are—we would prefer to be alone. I'm very sorry, but you must excuse me this time and—ah—go.”
“Go? You want me to go out and—and not stay here?”
“Yes. Yes—ah—quite so, Primmie. Ah—good-night.”
Primmie departed, slamming the door and muttering indignation. Galusha sighed once more. Then he relapsed into silence.
Twenty minutes later Martha herself came in. They heard her enter the dining room, then Primmie's voice in resentful explanation. When Miss Phipps did come into the sitting room, she was smiling slightly.
“Primmie's heart is broken,” she observed. “Oh, don't worry, it isn't a very serious break. She hasn't had so much to talk about for goodness knows when and yet nobody wants to listen to her. I told her to tell Luce about it, but that didn't seem to soothe her much. Luce is Lucy Larcom, Mr. Cabot,” she explained. “He is our cat.”
Cousin Gussie, already a much bewildered man, looked even more bewildered, but Martha did not observe his condition. She turned to his companion.