"You help Bettie stir the soup and the mashed potatoes," said Jean, whisking off her apron and tying it about Mabel's neck. "I'll go in and shake hands with them and then come back and dish up."
Jean found both guests looking decidedly ill at ease. Mr. Black stood by the parlor table absent-mindedly undressing a family of paper dolls. Mrs. Crane, pale and nervously clutching the curtain, seemed unable to move from the bedroom doorway.
"Oh!" said Jean, "I do believe Mabel forgot all about introducing you. We told her to be sure to remember, but she hasn't been able to take her mind off of her apron since she put it on. Mrs. Crane, this is our—our preserver, Mr. Black."
The guests bowed stiffly.
Jean began to wish that she could think of some way to break the ice. Both were jolly enough on ordinary occasions, but apparently both had suddenly been stricken dumb. Perhaps dinner parties always affected grown persons that way, or perhaps the starch from Mabel's apron had proved contagious; Jean smiled at the thought. Then she made another effort to promote sociability.
"Mrs. Crane," explained Jean, turning to Mr. Black, who was nervously tearing the legs off of the father of the paper-doll family, "is our very nicest neighbor. We like her just ever so much—everybody does. We've often told you, Mrs. Crane, how fond we are of Mr. Black. It was because you are our two very dearest friends that we invited you both—"
"Je-e-e-e-an!" called a distressed voice from the kitchen.
"Mercy!" exclaimed Jean, making a hurried exit, "I hope that soup isn't scorched!"
"No," said Bettie, slightly aggrieved, "but I wanted a chance, too, to say how-do-you-do to those people before I get all mixed up with the cooking. I thought you were never coming back."
"Well, it's your turn now," said Jean. "Give me that spoon."