"My name," she said, "is Gwen Taylor. Hattie got stuck for a few minutes—and told me to come in. I've heard a lot about you—here and there."
I stood and shook her hand.
She briefly grabbed her lower lip with her upper teeth. "Or is that—indelicate?"
"No. I'm pleased. And not fooled for a minute. You see—I know Hattie."
"After all," said the girl, "it's her profession. She said we were having coffee."
Viola came again with a tray. Gwen poured. "There are half a dozen of us around. Would you like to meet them?"
"One's enough."
Her eyes flickered and she smiled. "Thanks." She handed me the cup, served the sugar with tongs, poured cream, and fixed her own. "Warm night."
We talked about that.