Martha gurgled, jeering. "Mrs. Kenworthy! the nerve of you! Call
her mother!"
They hadn't ceased dancing. Martha had a gaudy printed purple silk
thing, a man's belongings, pinned about her head, turban-wise, and
her arms were clasped firmly around her husband's waist. She made a
gesture with her head about the room.
"It never looked better, did it, mammie? You always wanted it this
way."
The beds were standing together, at length, where they had always
belonged.
"I just let Johnnie arrange everything else to suit himself," she
said.