"Good-bye, Mr. Greatorex. It's all right, isn't it? You're coming to sing for him, you know, not for us."
"I'm coomin'," said Greatorex.
She settled her chin again, tucked her hands away in the squirrel muff and went quickly toward the door. He followed.
"Let me putt Daasy in t' trap, Miss Cartaret, and drive yo' home."
"I wouldn't think of it. Thank you all the same."
She was in the kitchen now, on the outer threshold. He followed her there.
"Miss Cartaret—"
She turned. "Well?"
His face was flushed to the eyes. He struggled visibly for expression.
"Yo' moosn' saay I doan' like yo'. Fer it's nat the truth."
"I'm glad it isn't," she said.