"Kids in bed?"
"Sure, before dinner. I'm glad you're back. You can give me a hand with the dishes."
"Where's all the folks?"
"On the porch."
Nounou got up, glanced cautiously through the pantry window, then took a cigarette from her bag and lit it. Lizzie, a native of Dark Harbour, reflected sombrely on the ways of metropolitan nursemaids.
"There's ice cream in the freezer if you want some."
"No, thanks. Brady's man blew me in the village. Gee, that boy's fresh."
Lizzie was a little annoyed at this repetition. It was a long time since any one had paid her the compliment of being fresh.
"It's the weather. Hot days and cool nights always makes trouble."
A brief silence. The kettle steamed softly on the range, Lizzie gnashed at her corncob, Nounou blew a gust of smoke and measured the stacks of dishes with a gloomy eye. Washing up was no part of her job, but she was somewhat in awe of the older woman; and the cook's dogged abstraction as she leaned over her food suggested that she had matter to impart.
