Mrs. Laniston was not altogether unaware of Haxon's bead-like gaze, and she was disposed to hurry the young ladies through the discussion of their Indian peaches and grapes.
"You will have plenty of those peaches at New Helvetia," she urged.
"But not till to-morrow," said Lucia.
"Let me order the coffee, now."
"For mercy's sake, mamma," the loitering Ruth remonstrated.
"I'm as hungry as a hunter—yet," the brown-haired, poetic-eyed Lucia averred. But she affected no ethereal delicacy or daintiness. She had enjoyed her dinner and meant to finish it with due relish.
Mr. Jardine laughed with unexpected leniency and directed her choice to a great deeply red Indian peach, the biggest, the most luscious in the old-fashioned white-and-gilt china basket.
"I believe the juice in this would fill a cup," she said solemnly.
"No doubt," he assented.
"Blood-red," she looked at it on the spoon.