She was alternately smiling at Grant, and looking down toward her feet with apparent embarrassment; and she was making vague gestures toward her chest. I began to watch more closely. I couldn't quite hear what she was saying.
The woman was definitely blushing now, laughing and pointing toward her chest. I brushed the earth from my hands, stood up, and stalked over to where they were standing.
I didn't know exactly what was going on, but I felt that my presence would do no harm.
". . . you might call them eye-catchers," the woman was saying, cupping her hands at strategic points over the flatness of her dress.
I tucked my arm possessively through Grant's, and stood there tapping my foot.
To my surprise, the woman seemed glad to see me. "Oh, never mind, your wife will know what I mean," she said. With a dismissing sweep of her eyes she brushed Grant out of earshot. When he had gone back to his weeding she said, "It's so hard to talk to a man, isn't it? You can't call a spade a spade for fear of embarrassing them."
I was still a little suspicious of her. "What was it you wanted?" I asked, my tone aloof.
"I stayed here overnight last Tuesday, and my figure hasn't been the same since! I left my--oh, I can't think what they call them in the stores, but--you know, cheaters!"
The woman turned crimson again, as she saw that I didn't know what she meant. She glanced at Grant, busy pulling weeds out of the ground, as though she were afraid that he might overhear.
"I'm tired of trying to explain what I left!" she cried. "Have you got a mail order catalogue?"