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But you ought to be ashamed, when we've been working like Turks. Eugenia cut up every bit of the chicken salad and Emma Carr made the mayonnaise she makes the most delicious you ever tasted. Aren't those candelabra visions? Emma lent them to me, and Mrs. Randolph sent her oriental lamps. There's the bell now! It must be Eugie's extra forks; she said she'd send them as soon as she got home."
Just fancy sowing flower-seeds and watching them growing every day, and having our own vegetables! We could have salad every evening in the summer, and lettuces freshly picked from a dear little bed! urged Eva. Vava listened with growing enthusiasm. 'It would be almost like home again. I have grown radishes in my little garden, because nursie liked them for tea.
She gave heavy, rich, old-fashioned dinners in her own way, in which her servants were perfectly trained. It was a standing joke among her friends that they always ate too much at Mrs. Apostleman's house, there were always seven or eight substantial courses, and she liked to have the plates come back for more lobster salad or roast turkey. In this, as in all things, she was a law unto herself.
To prove his politeness, for instance, he insisted upon his hostesses having second helps to every dish, offered to answer the telephone whenever it rang, and even obligingly started to answer the door-bell during the salad course. That dinner was but the initiation into a week of difficult adjustments.
She was half-moved to cry, "Stop, William; explain!" and would have returned to the subject at luncheon if William had not shown himself inscrutable and chill, lifting fragments of salad on the point of his fork, with the gesture of a man pronging seaweed, detecting gravel, suspecting germs. "If you all die of typhoid I won't be responsible!" he snapped.
Usually on these occasions he brought her a present, something queer that wrung the heart because it revealed the humility of his conception of the desirable; perhaps a glass jar of preserved fruit salad which had evidently impressed him as looking magnificent when he saw it in the grocer's shop.
"You can't expect her to stay for the goodies," beginning to nibble at her own. "Where is she?" cried Mr. Alstyne, laughing, and sweeping the room with his brown eyes. "Oh! I see," his glance lighting on the Whitney boys' corner. "Yes, she told me to tell you," said Alexia, between her mouthfuls of salad and oyster, "where she is," as he started. "Oh, Percy and Van!"
Franklin answering, from the Italian point of view: "We have got three things left, sir Love, Music, and Salad"? He not only terrified the company with such outbreaks as these, but, when the English side of him turned up in due course, he lost his foreign smoothness; and, getting on the subject of the medical profession, said such downright things in ridicule of doctors, that he actually put good-humoured little Mr.
Cruse, I'm so sorry that we have no potatoes; but there is salad, I know." "Talking of chairs," said Mr. Hunter, "after all there has been no seat yet invented by man equal to a divan, either for ease, dignity, or grace." Mr. Hunter had long been practising to sit cross-legged, and was now attempting it on on the grass for the first time in public.
"Go after the potato salad, will you, Billie? There's a good boy! Wrinkles has refused." "He can't carry the salad with those gloves," interrupted Florinda, raising her eyes from her work and contemplating them with displeasure. "Hang the gloves!" cried Hawker, dragging them from his hands and hurling them at the divan. "What's the matter with you, Splutter?"
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