At that moment the drawing-room door opened to admit the tallest of the admirable parlour-maids, with the tray bearing a silver coffee-machine and the dainty Dresden service.
Blanche rose from the cushion where she had been sitting at my feet, and went to the table to officiate. In her simple white dinner-gown she looked like a tall lily bending down.
“Mother, plenty of hot milk and a little sugar? Nancy, how do you like your coffee?”
“I don’t take it, thank you very much.”
“Oh, then here’s Billy’s—black, with plenty of sugar. Will he be coming in for it?”
Her mother gave a little smile.
“I think perhaps Nancy won’t mind taking in Billy’s coffee to him. Will you, dear? He’s in his ‘den’; the door just opposite, across the hall.”
Even without her gently mischievous glance I should have realized what she meant. The unsuspecting, sympathetic creature thought she was being kind and tactful, making an opportunity for me to have a little time alone with my fiancé.
She imagined that we were longing for a lovers’ tête-à-tête, with all the fond, foolish talk that one could guess at—beaming smiles at each other, like Smithie’s—Ordinary love-making! Yes, of course, people will have to be allowed to think that there’s that between us, too. I hadn’t wasted many thoughts on this aspect of the case. But this “rubbed it in.”
I felt a wave of scorching scarlet rush up my face to the roots of my hair. However, that didn’t matter: no doubt Mrs. Waters put it down to the “natural shyness” of a girl in love. She never guessed the furious mixture of feelings that sent that blush into my cheeks.