Warren was stouter and had more color, and there was a kind of laughing expression to his face. Cary's had a certain resolution and that loftiness we are given to calling aristocratic.
When Doris had carried the foot-stove to Dinah, and her own wraps upstairs, she stood for a moment uncertain. Cary and his father were talking eagerly in the study, so she sat down by the hall fire and began to think about the Vicar and Mrs. Primrose, and wanted to know what Moses did at the Fair. She had been at one town fair, but she could not recall much besides the rather quaintly and gayly dressed crowd. Then there was a summons to supper.
"Oh," cried Cary, "sit still a moment. You look like a page of Mother Goose. You can't be Miss Muffet, for you have no curds and whey, and you are not Jack Horner——"
She sprang up then and caught Uncle Winthrop's hand. "Nor Mother Goose," she rejoined laughingly.
The plates were moved just a little. Cary sat between her and his father.
"I have heard quite a good deal about you," he began. "Are you French or English?"
She caught a tiny gleam in Uncle Win's eye, and gravely answered in French.
"How do you get along there in Sudbury Street? Who does the talking?" he asked in surprise.
"We all talk," she answered.
He flushed a little and then gave an amused nod.