I pondered, and just then Ethel came into the kitchen.
“Ethel, Minerva is going to stay with us for the summer, but she is afraid of the dark, and thinks that if we could have dinner earlier she would like it better.”
Ethel sniffed. She sniffed disdainfully.
“When would you like to have it, Minerva?” said I, hoping that the sniffing would cease. Sniffs are not a part of diplomacy, by any means.
“If you had it at five o’clock, I’d get to bed at eight.”
“Five o’clock is ridiculous,” burst out Ethel. I looked at her warningly, but she did not pay any attention to my signal.
“No, Minerva,” said she. “Six o’clock is plenty early enough.”
“Well,” said Minerva, actually putting her hands on her hips, a new attitude for her, “I’m on’y staying now to oblige, and I’ll have to go back, I reckon.”
Now this was a little too much, but for the sake of keeping her and the health of my wife at any cost, I said:
“Well, Minerva, I suppose that in spite of Mrs. Vernon’s objection to the hour we’ll have dinner at five, but I tell you plainly that it is because I do not want Mrs. Vernon to be left without a servant.”