With admirable patience, as if humoring two spoiled children, Imogen filled another cup with greater care.
"Mama feels just as I do about strings in coffee," said Eddy, bearing away his cup. "We are both of us very highly organized."
"You mustn't be over-sensitive, you know," said Imogen, "else you will unfit yourself for life. There are so many strings in one's coffee in life."
"The fit avoid them," said Eddy, "as I do."
"You inherit that, too, from mama," said Imogen, "the avoidance of difficulties. Do try some of our pop-overs, Miss Bocock; it's a national dish."
"What are you going to do this morning, Imogen?" Jack asked, and she felt that his eye braved hers. "It's your Girls' Club morning, isn't it? That will do beautifully for you, Miss Bocock. I've been telling Miss Bocock about it; she is very much interested."
"Very much indeed. I am on the committee of such a club in England," said
Miss Bocock; "I should like to go over it with you."
Imogen smiled assent, while inwardly she muttered "Snake!" Her morning, already, was done for, unless, indeed, she could annex Sir Basil as a third to the party and, with him, evade Miss Bocock for a few brief moments. But brief moments could do nothing for them. They needed long sunny or moonlit solitudes.
"We must be alone together, under the stars, for our souls to see," Imogen said to herself, while she poured the coffee, while she met Jack's eye, while, beneath this highest thought, the lesser comment of "Snake!" made itself heard.
"What's become of that interesting girl who had the rival club, Imogen?"
Rose asked. "The one you squashed."