"We ought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.
"All right," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to me helplessly. "What do people plan?"
Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.
"Look!" she complained. "I hurt it."
We all looked-the knuckle was black and blue.
"You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but you did do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulking physical specimen of a? "
"I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding."
"Hulking," insisted Daisy.
Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire.
They were here-and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained.