AMY. 'We shall see.' She looks about her. Sharply, 'Where is his man?'

RICHARDSON, with the guilt of the chop on her conscience, 'What man?'

AMY, brushing this subterfuge aside, 'His man. They always have a
man.'

RICHARDSON, with spirit, 'He is a man himself.'

AMY. 'Come, girl; who waits on him?'

RICHARDSON. 'Me.'

AMY, rather daunted, 'No man? Very strange.' Fortunately she sees the
two plates. 'Stop.' Her eyes glisten. 'Two persons have been dining
here!' Richardson begins to tremble. 'Why do you look so scared? Was
the other a gentleman?'

RICHARDSON. 'Oh, ma'am.'

AMY, triumphantly, 'It was not!' But her triumph gives way to
bewilderment, for she knows that when she left the house her mother
was still in it. Then who can the visitor have been? 'Why are you
trying to hide that plate? Was it a lady? Girl, tell me was it a
lady?'

RICHARDSON, at bay, 'He--he calls her a lady.'

AMY, the omniscient, 'But you know better!'