Mrs. Fisher came in while Billy was trying to cover the entire living-room floor with the condensed milk. The mop was old and there hadn't been much milk spilled, but he was doing his best to get a bit of it in every isolated spot and corner.
"Billy, Billy, what in God's name are you trying to do?"
He didn't answer. He just surrendered the mop. Mrs. Fisher had been visiting her sister in Jersey City, and as she mopped she told the assembled company how her sister suffered with rheumatism and rush of blood to the head.
Nobody had noticed how late it was till now. There was a sudden dash for coats and hats. Louise was lying on them and had to be aroused. She leaned against the wall smiling whitely as everybody assured her that they had a wonderful time. Theresa paused in the act of putting her coat on. She took a step nearer to Louise and stared at her.
"You look very bad," she said. "Be careful. You look awful."
Louise managed to get to the vanity-table mirror. She looked at herself with interest. She was a brunette. Some people remembered when she had had a neutral brown shade of hair. It was black now, jet-black, and gave a heavy coarseness to a face which could poorly stand any added coarsening. She had gray eyes and a large mouth which she painted orange. There was a hard enameled prettiness about Louise like that of the poster ladies who advertise cigars. She wore hoop earrings and always had the latest thing in five-dollar shoes.
