"Let him bring me my tea," she said, gazing at the child with eyes that set him again to effervescing with delicious apprehension.
"No, no, she'll grab me!" yelled the boy, on a yet higher pitch of joy.
"Linda dear, it's Sunday. Let's have a little quiet," pleaded her sister.
At this moment, the head of the house entered, and his hopeful broke his bonds and, rushing to meet him, was lifted to a safe perch from which he looked down in rosy triumph on his dearest foe.
"Hello, everybody," said Henry Radcliffe. "If there isn't the girl that knows everything—including how to dance! You're a bird, Linda. How are you, Bertram?" The men shook hands, then the host approached the tea-table and kissed his wife.
"Put Harry right down here, dear. He's going to be a little gentleman and pass the tea."
"But not to Aunt Linda," shouted the child.
"No, no," agreed his mother pacifically. "You can take her tea to Uncle Bertram, and he'll pass it."
"Look out, Uncle Bertram, she'll tickle you," advised the boy out of long experience.
Linda, leaning lazily back in her armchair, met King's gray eyes and gave a low laugh.