“Good. Thanks.” Then he moved heavily off. “Beef bones and soap––bath an’ Bible talk; beef bones an’ soap––”
The girl watched him vanish behind the closing door, muttering as he went to “see to things.”
She stood for some moments where he had left her. The smile was still in her eyes, but its humor had died out. She was unfeignedly sorry he had gone. He was such a good-natured simpleton, she thought. A real good-hearted sort. Just the sort to make a husband worth having. Ah, well, he had gone! Better luck next time.
She turned away with a deep, sentimental sigh, and crossed over to the cupboard. She drew out her work once more and again spread out the crumpled paper pattern upon the gossamer lawn.
Yes, Toby would have suited her well. She heaved another sigh. He had remittances from home, too. And he wouldn’t be difficult to manage. His head was rather a funny shape, and his face didn’t suggest brightness, but then––
She began to snip at the material with her rusty scissors. But just as her mind had fully concentrated upon her task a sudden sound startled her. She looked up, listening, and the next moment the door was flung wide, and Sandy Joyce stood framed in the opening.