The girls played golf that afternoon. Emily's mind, when it had intervals of leisure, dwelt upon the question of new furniture—somewhat reluctantly. After all, maybe it would be better to suffer the old faded colors than to flee to others that you know not of. Such a lot of trouble, going to the city to select things, and then, maybe, when you get them home, they don't fit in, as you had intended them to. And she even realized her reluctance. "That's the point about being young. Martha would just jump into the shopping fray. She would dive right in, without hesitation." These meditations kept Emily from giving "that man" even a thought, until almost supper time. Then, as she passed into the hall, Marion Wright, giving her arms a sturdy swing, almost struck her, and drew back, apologizing.
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you! I was just practicing that drive. I didn't want to forget it, such a classy one! Richard Quin was just teaching us, you know, Mrs. Kenworthy."
"Who's Richard Quin?" Emily asked.
"Oh, that's Eve's brother-in-law. Marion likes him. Don't you, Marion?" Martha asked.
"Well, I can't say I'm crazy about him. But still, he can play. I'm not particular who coaches me. I do prefer them not so fat."
"Fat!" murmured Martha. "He isn't fat. He's just a large man. He's well built."
"Of course they're more fun married," Marion went on, trying to shock Emily. And then she asked, suddenly curious, "Do you like him, Mrs. Kenworthy?"
"Do I like him? Goodness, no! He's greasy looking."
Martha said with dignity: "Mother doesn't know him. She never said a word to him in her life. He's not greasy at all, if you see him close. He shaves twice a day."
"How do you know he does?" Emily demanded.