Eliza had risen, startled.
"I suppose you both know Eliza Brewster," continued Phil. "She made life comfortable for Aunt Mary so many years."
Edgar Fabian jerked his blond head in Eliza's direction. "How do," he said; but the host's tone and manner constrained Kathleen to approach the grey-haired woman, and again hold out the delicate hand.
"Was it you who made those good cookies Aunt Mary used to give us?" she asked slowly, looking curiously at Phil's guest.
Eliza allowed the white glove to take her bony fingers a moment, then she stepped behind the solitary chair and set it forward for the visitor.
The girl would have accepted it, but Phil interposed.
"Sit down, Eliza," he said good-humoredly. "Miss Fabian can get chairs at home. I am going to treat her with truly Oriental magnificence. Try this, Miss Fabian." The host indicated a pile of Indian blankets, and Kathleen sank upon them.
Then Phil turned to Edgar, who reached to the host's ear as he stood in high-chested superiority looking about the apartment with disfavor.
"The choice of soft spots is small," said Phil, "but help yourself. There's room beside your sister here."
Edgar moved to the pile of blankets and sat down; while Phil dropped, Turkish fashion, at Eliza's feet and faced them.