Then, when he laid his hands upon her, she came very passively into his embrace as he sat before her on the rail.
“Eugene! Eugene!” she said in mocking reproof.
“Where is your room?” he said.
She told him.
Later, Eliza came suddenly and silently out upon them, on one of her swift raids from the kitchen.
“Who’s there? Who’s there?” she said, peering into the gloom suspiciously. “Huh? Hah? Where’s Eugene? Has any one seen Eugene?” She knew very well he was there.
“Yes, here I am,” he said. “What do you want?”
“Oh! Who’s that with you? Hah?”
“’Miss Brown’is with me.”
“Won’t you come out and sit down, Mrs. Gant?” said “Miss Brown.” “You must be tired and hot.”
“Oh!” said Eliza awkwardly, “is that you,’Miss Brown’? I couldn’t see who it was.” She switched on the dim porch light. “It’s mighty dark out here. Some one coming up those steps might fall and break a leg. I tell you what,” she continued conversationally, “this air feels good. I wish I could let everything go and just enjoy myself.”
She continued in amiable monologue for another half hour, her eyes probing about swiftly all the time at the two dark figures before her. Then hesitantly, by awkward talkative stages, she went into the house again.
“Son,” she said before she went, troubled, “it’s getting late. You’d better go to bed. That’s where we all ought to be.”
“Miss Brown” assented gracefully and moved toward the door.
“I’m going now. I feel tired. Good-night, all.”
He sat quietly on the rail, smoking, listening to the noises in the house. It went to sleep. He went back and found Eliza preparing to retire to her little cell.
“Son!” she said, in a low voice, after shaking her puckered face reproachfully for a moment, “I tell you what—I don’t like it. It doesn’t look right—your sitting out alone with that woman. She’s old enough to be your mother.”
“She’s YOUR boarder, isn’t she?” he said roughly, “not mine. I didn’t bring her here.”
