"We can't," explained Marjory. "It takes all of us to do the serving. Besides, we haven't but two dining-room chairs. Sit here, please, Mrs. Crane; and this is your place, Mr. Black."
Mr. Black looked red and uncomfortable as he unfolded his napkin. Mrs. Crane looked, as Marjory said afterward, for all the world as if she were going to cry. Perhaps the prospect of a good dinner after a long siege of poor ones was too much for her, for ordinarily Mrs. Crane was a very cheerful woman.
Although both guests declared that the soup was very good indeed, neither seemed to really enjoy it.
"They just kind of worried a little of it down," said the distressed Marjory, when she handed Mr. Black's plate, still three-quarters full, to Jean in the kitchen. "Do you suppose there's anything the matter with it?"
"There can't be," said Bettie. "I've tasted it and it's good."
"They're just saving room for the other things," comforted Mabel. "I guess I wouldn't fill myself up with soup if I could smell roasted chicken keeping warm in the oven."
Although Mabel had asked to be spared passing the spillable things, it seemed reasonably safe to trust her with the dish of escalloped salmon. She succeeded in passing it without disaster to either the dish or the guests' garments, and her apron was still immaculate.
"Why," exclaimed Mabel, suddenly noticing that the guests sat stiff and silent, "the girls said I was to be sure to introduce you the moment you came, and I never thought a thing about it. Do forgive me—I'm the stupidest girl. Mrs. Black—I mean Mr. Crane—no, Mrs. Crane—"
"We've been introduced," said Mr. Black, rather shortly. "Might I have a glass of water?"
A pained, surprised look crept into Mabel's eyes. A moment later she went to the kitchen.