“What?” Newland demanded sharply.  “What did you say?”

“I said:  ‘How’s the ole poetry?’ Do you read it to all your relations the way you used to?”

“See here, Dill!”

“Well, what you want, Sanders?”

“You try to talk about things you understand,” said Newland.  “You better keep your mind on collecting four dollars a week from some poor coloured widow, and don’t——­”

“I’d rather keep my mind on that!” Noble was inspired to retort.  “Your Aunt Georgina told my mother that ever since you began thinkin’ you could write poetry the life your family led was just——­”

Newland interrupted.  He knew the improper thing his Aunt Georgina had said, and he was again, and doubly, infuriated by the prospect of its repetition here.  He began fiercely: 

“Dill, you see here——­”

“Your Aunt Georgina said——­”

Both voices had risen.  Plainly it was time for someone to say:  “Gentlemen!  Gentlemen!” Julia glanced anxiously through the darkness of the room beyond the open window beside her, to where the light of the library lamp shone upon a door ajar; and she was the more nervous because Noble, to give the effect of coolness, had lit an Orduma cigarette.

She laughed amiably, as if the two young gentlemen were as amiable as she.  “I’ve thought of something,” she said.  “Let’s take the settee and some chairs down on the lawn where we can sit and see the moon.”

“There isn’t any,” Noble remarked vacantly.

“Let’s go, anyhow,” she said cheerily.  “Come on.”

Her purpose was effected; the belligerents were diverted, and Noble lifted the light wicker settee.  “I’ll carry this,” he said.  “It’s no trouble.  Sanders can carry a chair—­I guess he’d be equal to that much.”  He stumbled, dropped the settee, and lifted a basket, its contents covered with a newspaper.  “Somebody must have——­”

“What is it?”

“It’s a basket,” said Noble.

“How curious!”

Julia peered through the darkness.  “I wonder who could have left that market basket out here.  I suppose——­” She paused.  “Our cook does do more idiotic things than—­I’ll go ask her if it’s ours.”

She stepped quickly into the house, leaving two concentrations of inimical silence behind her, but she returned almost immediately, followed by Kitty Silver.

“It’s no use to argue,” Julia was saying as they came.  “You did your marketing and simply and plainly left it out there because you were too shiftless to——­”

“No’m,” Mrs. Silver protested in a high voice of defensive complaint.  “No’m, Miss Julia, I ain’ lef no baskit on no front po’che!  I got jus’ th’ee markit baskits in the livin’ worl’ an’ they ev’y las’ one an’ all sittin’ right where I kin lay my han’s on ’em behime my back do’.  No’m, Miss Julia, I take my solemn oaf I ain’ lef no——­” But here she debouched upon the porch, and in spite of the darkness perceived herself to be in the presence of distinguished callers.  “Pahdon me,” she said loftily, her tone altering at once, “I beg leaf to insis’ I better take thishere baskit back to my kitchen an’ see whut-all’s insiden of it.”