The girl kissed her, and the woman suffered it, not without interest, but still in that other absorption, and led them into the house.
“How’d you ever come to come?” she said. “I have got some fresh baked bread, if that’ll do you.”
And at Lory’s protest,
“This your husband?” her aunt asked. “Well, I’ll tell you what, we can send him to the bakery.”
With this the Inger took matters in his own hands. There was something epic in his description.
“Miss Moor’s husband that was going to be,” he said, “is Mr. Bunchy Haight, a saloon keeper in Inch. She’s run away from him on her weddin’ night. And I’ve brought her to you. Wasn’t that right?”
“My gracious,” said her aunt.
“It’s just till I get a job,” Lory put in. “Was I right to come, Aunt ’Cretia?”
“Why, of course so, of course so,” said her aunt. “Jem Moor always was a weak fool. Can you make biscuits?”