"A beautiful tint," he agreed.
"And s-s-s-sweet," she fairly kissed it with her delicate, carmine lips.
"Why, Lucia, what a gourmande you seem," said her aunt.
"Bah, all the rest of you are as old as the hills and have got the dyspepsia, except Ruth and me—so you grudge us our good appetites and our nice dinner."
"I'm not old," said Frank with his adolescent laugh, half growl, half chuckle. "I haven't got the dyspepsia."
"No, but you have got the cigarette habit—which amounts to the same thing."
"Coffee, waiter," said Mrs. Laniston succinctly. Not a very wise or witty conversation certainly, but it was not for Haxon.
With the peculiar carrying quality of Lucia's voice every word she uttered was distinct to Lloyd. He could not hear what was said by the others, albeit she spoke no louder. Now and then Frank's facetious growl seemed to slip the leash and a phrase or a laugh became distinguishable. Lloyd had some instinct that stood him in stead for breeding, for tuition, for experience. He would not unduly urge Haxon, but men of their hurried mode of life make swift work of meals and might be called "very valiant trenchermen." They had both finished a repast unusually loitering before the Laniston party had fairly entered upon the fruit course. He threw his napkin on the table and started to his feet ere Haxon's glance of protest could reach him. Then ruefully followed by the acrobat they left the room before the Laniston party could gather themselves together for their avoidance.
A silence ensued at the round table while Jardine leisurely cracked almonds in search of a philopena which he was pledged to eat with Ruth, and Mrs. Laniston trifled with her black coffee.
"Where's your hurry, now, Aunt Dora?" asked Lucia, her eyes narrowing mischievously, and Ruth laughed in delight, growing very alluringly pink as she gazed teasingly at her mother.