Mitchell clasped her hand with an expression as burning as if it was real.
“I declare,” he yelled straight at her, “if this isn’t what I’ve been dreaming towards ever since I first knew Jack.”
Aunt Mary fairly shone.
“Dear me,” she began, “if I’d known—”
“You’d better dine with us, Mitchell,” said Jack; “that’ll make five.”
“It won’t make but three for me,” said Mitchell. “I haven’t had but two dinners before to-night.”
Clover smiled because he heard, and Aunt Mary smiled because she didn’t, but was happy anyway. She had altogether forgotten that she had demurred at dining out. They all sat down and shook out their napkins. Mitchell and Clover shook Aunt Mary’s for her and gave it a beautiful cornerways spread across her lap.
Then the waiter laid another plate for Mitchell, and brought oyster cocktails for everyone. Aunt Mary eyed hers with early curiosity and later suspicion; and she smelled of it very carefully.
“I don’t believe they’re good oysters,” she said.
“Yes, they are,” cried Mitchell reassuringly. His voice, when he turned it upon her, was pitched like a clarionet. The blind would surely have seen as well as the deaf have heard had there been any candidates for miracles in his immediate vicinity. “They’re first-class,” he added, “you just go at them and see.”