“You have but recently returned from Europe, I understand,” said Margaret as Lizzette left the room. “Were you there long?”
“Some three years,” replied Herbert.
“Long enough, then, to become somewhat imbued with old-world ideas and customs.”
“To the extent of finding democratic America the most delightful place on earth to live.”
The air of constraint, so foreign to Herbert’s usual suavity of address, dropped off under the stimulant of Margaret’s calm eyes and interested face, and he presently found himself talking and laughing with her and the boys with the freedom of long acquaintance. In the mean time Lizzette had been bustling about the kitchen on hospitable thoughts intent, and wondering vaguely where Elsie had gone. In honor of her home-coming she had sacrificed a couple of plump chickens which she had stuffed with truffles grown in the darkness of her cellar. On the case of wooden shelves which, with the romanticism of her race, she loved to dignify with the name of “beaufet,” stood a glass bowl of snow cream flanked by a basket piled high with yellow sponge-cakes.
“Zere ees ze pineapple jelly, ze salade de cresson, ze cold sliced ham, ze duchesse potatoes, et ze cream chocolate—ah, well, Lizzette’s table ees not so empty after all.”
She was bending over the oven door, watching the browning of the chickens and letting a flood of savory steam into the kitchen, when she felt a warm kiss on her cheek. Glancing up in surprise she saw Elsie, cloaked and bonneted, before her. “Fie, fie, Elsie,” exclaimed Lizzette. “Zis vill not do. You no leave before ze dinner.”
“I must,” said Elsie, putting her hands on Lizzette’s shoulders and looking into her face with her eyes full of tears. “Don’t you see how the case stands? This ‘petit curieux’—there, don’t be angry, I can’t call him anything else—has followed me here, and if Mrs. Mason hears of it I shall lose my place. Don’t you see I could not sit at the table with him and defend myself against her attacks?”
“Oh-h!” It was a very long and expressive “oh” on Lizzette’s part, and her eyes grew round with wonder and amusement as she glanced at Elsie’s perturbed face. “I nevair vas so big dunce in my life. Haf Herbeart efer speak to you?”
“No,” said Elsie, crimsoning, “only—only looked at me!”