"I hadn't an idea you was entertainin', Belinda, and you must excuse my walkin' right in on—on—"
Miss Barry kept her eyes fixed imperturbably on the tureen, and turned to get a plate of crackers from a side table.
"Mrs. Porter is my name," said the guest, taking pity on Miss Benslow's embarrassed writhings.
"Oh, yes, on Mis' Porter. I just wanted to see if you could spare me a small portion of bakin' soda."
"Why didn't you come to the back door as you do commonly?"
"Why—why, the mornin' was so exhilaratin', I made sure you'd be watchin' the waves, and I thought it would expediate matters for me to come around front." An ingratiating smile revealed Miss Benslow's full set.
"Just go right out and help yourself, Luella. You know where 't is, and you can let yourself out the back door. Come, Mrs. Porter, the chowder's good and hot."
It was, indeed. Miss Benslow's prominent eyes rolled toward the white-clothed table as she passed it, and inhaled the tantalizing fragrance. She would presently go home and eat bits of cold mackerel with her old father, at the oilcloth-covered table in the kitchen. Neither he nor she was a "good provider."
Miss Barry laughed quietly to herself as she and her guest sat down.
"Luella did get ahead of me," she said appreciatively. "I don't know how she slid by. Her uniform never blends with the landscape, either. Perhaps she climbed under the lee of the rocks."