"Most any kind," she said loftily, "except that kind you put in mousetraps."
"Oh, Amarilly, you are a true aristocrat! How comes it that you scrub floors? Is it on a bet?"
The waiter came up and said something to the artist in a low tone, and
Derry replied hastily:
"Nothing to-day." Then, turning to Amarilly, he asked her if she would like a glass of milk. Upon her assent, he ordered two glasses of milk, to the veiled surprise of the waiter.
When the luncheon was served, Amarilly, by reason of her good memory, was still at ease. The children at the Guild school had been given a few general rules in table deportment, but Amarilly had followed every movement of Colette's so faithfully at the eventful luncheon that she ate very slowly, used the proper forks and spoons, and won Derry's undisguised admiration.
"Mr. Vedder's, good," she thought. "Mr. St. John's grand, but this 'ere Mr. Derry's folksy. I'd be skeert settin' here eatin' with Mr. St. John, but this feller's only a kid, and I feel quite to hum with him."
"Amarilly," he said confidentially, as they were sipping their coffee from "little cups," "you are truthful, I know. Will you be perfectly frank with me and answer a question?"
"Mebby," she replied warily.
"Did you ever eat a luncheon like this before?"
"I never seen the inside of a restyrant afore," she replied.