She was excited, flushed. She wrapped her braids around her head, gentle braids of pale gold, and her undistinguished face, thus framed, was young and sweet.
She hastened out to the dining-room.
What was the “parlor” by day the Grays used for their own bedroom, but the dining-room had a big, ugly, leather settee and two rockers, and it served as a secondary living-room.
Here Phil waited, at the end of the settee. She headed for a rocker, but he piled sofa-cushions for her at the other end of the settee, and she obediently sank down there.
“Listen,” he said, in a tone of lofty lamentation, “I don’t know as I can ever, ever make you understand I just wanted to give you a good time. I seen you was in mourning, and I thinks, ‘Maybe you could brighten her up a little—’”
“I am sorry I didn’t understand.”
“Una, Una! Do you suppose you could ever stoop to helping a bad egg like me?” he demanded.
His hand fell on hers. It comforted her chilly hand. She let it lie there. Speech became difficult for her.
“Why, why yes—” she stammered.
In reaction to her scorn of him, she was all accepting faith.