“One, please; and may I be excused for a few moments? I’ve just thought of an order I meant to give, and the gaiety of our little party made me forget it. I don’t mind if my coffee gets a little cool,—I like it better so.”
Mrs. Doremus went off toward the housekeeping quarters, and the others made merry over their coffee cups.
“I don’t see why you want to start right off, Philip,” Helen demurred. “I think it’s going to stop snowing just about now.”
“Do you, my child?” said Van Reypen, serenely; “be that as it may, we stand not on the order of our going, but go at once,—instanter,—immejit,—all-in-a-hurry,—so soon as your coffee is despatched.”
“But why?” and Helen pouted.
“Yours not to put that direct question. Yours not to make remarks. Yours but to get into your befurments and hie away to town.”
“I’m not at all sure we can make it,” said Herron, pouring himself another cup of the rich brown beverage.
“Oh, yes, you can,” and the cheery voice of Mrs. Doremus sounded in the doorway. “This my cup? Fine! I like it a lot better not so blooming hot!”
Patty looked up suddenly, for the lapse into slang made her think that the pastry cook had been on her guard at lunch time, and had now fallen back to what must be her usual diction.
The old lady was smiling, and as she took her cup and sat down near the girls, Patty felt a sudden aversion.