“Well—?” said he.
“Jacob, you shouldn't have come to me.”
“You won't even call him?”
“No.”
“May I?”
“Of course.”
He got up, moved toward the telephone, hesitated midway, changed his mind and picked up his hat. Holding it between his hands he stood over her. She waited. But instead of speaking, he went out.
She sat there a brief time, thinking; went over to the telephone herself; even fingered the receiver; gave it up; busied herself hunting a receptacle for Peter's roses, finally settling on an earthenware crock.