"See, Joe, I think this lamp shade's going to be all right. Don't you? I thought maybe the yellow was too lemony, but it doesn't look so bad with the light shining through, does it? Look! Anyway, it was all they had at Small's. What do you think?"
"Yes," said Joe, warmly, looking through the lamp shade, through Kate, with starry eyes. He wanted to talk about Evelyn, just to speak her name, but he couldn't begin.
He's always moony when he's had a letter, Kate thought, picking up snips of silk from the floor. What: in the world is in all those wonderful letters? I wish he'd talk about her to me, but I suppose I'm not worthy. Hmp!
Joe picked up a magazine, but instead of opening it he dreamily began to draw spectacles and a mustache on the lovely lady on the cover. With his eyes on the pencil, he said:
"Evelyn wrote"
But Kate in a panic jumped up to fix the fire, clashing and crashing the fire irons.
Mrs. Prather poured herself another glass of Cointreau and dashed it down, crushed out a cigarette, popped a large liqueur chocolate into one cheek, and through it said, thickly and loudly:
"Bridge."
"You four play, and Evelyn and I will yawn together in the corner."
