He hesitated, and then Jeff called, “Yes, come in, Mr. Westover.”
The painter found him sitting on the old hair-cloth sofa, with his stick between his hands and knees, confronting his mother, who was rocking excitedly to and fro in the old hair-cloth easy-chair.
“You know these folks that Jeff's so crazy about?” she demanded.
“Crazy!” cried Jeff, laughing and frowning at the same time. “What's crazy in wanting to go off on a drive and choose your own party?”
“Do you know them?” Mrs. Durgin repeated to Westover.
“The Vostrands? Why, yes. I knew Mrs. Vostrand in Italy a good many years ago, and I've just been calling on her and her daughter, who was a little girl then.”
“What kind of folks are they?”
“What kind? Really! Why, they're very charming people—”
“So Jeff seems to think. Any call to show them any particular attention?”
“I don't know if I quite understand—”