"Yes, sir. When I get a day to lay off in, you couldn't move me outer the house with a derrick," she announced. "Miss Lang's here, too. Bein' so dim, an' comin' in outer the sunlight, perhaps you don't make out to see her."
"She ain't had time yet to pull herself together," Mrs. Slawson inwardly noted. "But, Lord! I couldn't stand in front of her forever, an' even if a girl is dead in love with a man (more power to her!), that's no reason she should go to the other extreme to hide it, an' pertend she's a cold storage, warranted to freeze'm stiff, like the artificial ice they're makin' these days, in the good old summertime."
The first cold greetings over, Claire started to retreat in the direction of the door.
"Excuse me, please—I promised Francie—She's expecting me—she's waiting—"
"Pshaw now, let her wait!" said Martha.
"Don't let me detain Miss Lang if she wishes to go," interposed Mr.
Ronald. "My business is really with you, Martha."
"Thank you, sir. But I'd like Miss Lang to stay by, all the same—that is, if you don't objeck."
"As a witness? You think I need watching, eh?"
"I think it does a body good to watch you, sir!"
"I didn't know before, you were a flatterer, Martha. But I see you're a lineal descendant of the Blarney Stone."