“It's a fact, Miss Pickett. She kissed him!”
The voices came from the inner office, behind the tier of lock boxes. Realizing that he was in a public place, Mr. Hennage did not feel it incumbent upon him to announce his presence by coughing or shuffling his feet. He remained discreetly silent, therefore, and Mrs. Pennycook's voice resumed:
“She had him taken right down to the Hat Ranch, of all places. Of course it wouldn't do to bring him up town, where he could be looked after. Of course not! He might be sent to a hospital and she wouldn't have a chance to look after him herself. I never heard of such carryings-on, Miss Pickett. It's so scandalous like.”
Miss Pickett sighed. “Who is he?” she demanded.
“That's what nobody can find out. I told Dan to ask Harley Hennage, but you know how stupid a man is. I don't suppose he even asked.”
“Well, all I've got to say, Mrs. Pennycook, is that Donna Corblay's taking a mighty big interest in a man she's never even been introduced to. Still, I'm not surprised at anything she'd do, the stuck-up thing. She just thinks she's it, with her new hats and a different wash-dress every week, and her high an' mighty way of looking at people. She could have been married long ago if she wasn't so stuck-up.”
“Oh, nobody's good enough for her” sneered Mrs. Pennycook. “If a dook was to ask her she wouldn't have him. She'd sooner make fools of half the married men in town.”
“She thinks she's too good for San Pasqual” Miss Pickett supplemented.
“I suppose she imagines her grand airs make her a lady,” Mrs. Pennycook deprecated, “but for my part, I think it shows that she's kinder vulgar like.”
“Well, what do you think o' last night's performance?” Miss Pickett demanded.