"As you are going that way, Richard," she said without preface of salutation, "do you mind taking my cup to the table?"
"Delighted, of course," he answered, extending his hand for it.
"If Mrs. Neligage will permit me," broke in Mr. Bradish, darting forward. "I beg ten thousand pardons for not perceiving—"
"But Mrs. Neligage will not permit you, Mr. Bradish," she responded brightly. "I have already commissioned Richard."
Fairfield received the cup, and bore it away, while Bradish cast upon the widow a glance of reproach and remonstrance.
"You women all pet a rising author," he said. "I suppose it's because you all hope to be put in his books."
"Oh, no. On the contrary it is because we hope to be left out."
"I don't see," he went on with little apparent relevancy, "why you need begrudge me the pleasure of doing you a small favor."
"I don't wish you to get too much into the habit of doing small favors," she responded over her shoulder, as she turned back to the group with which she had been chatting. "I am afraid that if you do, you'll fail when I ask a great one."
Fairfield made his way to the table where Alice was dispensing tea. He was by her welcomed cordially, by May with a reserve which was evidently absent-minded regret that he should break in upon her confidences with her cousin. He exchanged with Alice the ordinary greetings, and then made way for a fresh arrival who wished for tea. May responded rather indifferently to his remarks as he took a chair at the end of the sofa upon which she was seated, seeming so absorbed that in a moment he laughed at some irrelevant reply which she gave.