Mrs. Smith threw up a dainty gesture, black lace ruffles falling back from arms all the whiter because of them.
"Well, Penny Evans!"
"None other, Mrs. Smith, than the villain himself."
"Be seated, Penfield."
"Thanks, Miss Emelene."
They drew up in a triangle beside the window overlooking the cast-iron deer. The cat sprang up, curling in the crotch of Miss Emelene's arm.
"Nice ittie kittie, say how-do to big Penny-field-Evans. Say how-do to big man. Say how-do, muvver's ittie kittie." Miss Emelene extended the somewhat reluctant Maltese paw, five hook-shaped claws slightly in evidence.
"Say how-do to Hanna, Penfield. Hanna, say how-do to big man." "How-do, Hanna," said Mr. Evans, reddening slightly beneath his tan. Then hitched his chair closer.
"To what," he began, flashing his white smile from one to the other of them, and with a strong veer to the facetious, "are we indebted for the honor of this visit? Are those the unspoken words, ladies?"
"Nothing wrong at home, Penfield? Nobody ailing or—"