At a quarter of five, when Martha returned, there was no Buick parked in front of the house because her father was taking Ruth down to the bus. She therefore had no intimation that she had visitors. Honking her horn, she waited in the car and examined the house across the road. Everywhere were evidences of Miss Urey’s sporadic attempts to beautify the house. The grounds were partially cleared of leaves and the woodwork was half peeling gray and half fresh blue. Like a woman caught with only part of her makeup on, Martha thought.
When Ruth didn’t appear, she glanced at her watch and ran to the front door. Just as she opened it, a wide cylinder of gray silk came whirling out of the kitchen and into her arms. In a moment the two figures were mingled in a marbleized pattern of silk and tweed.
