"The chair for Eliza, mind you," put in Edgar, "while Kathleen and I were stowed on the floor."
A spark glowed in the girl's eyes as she regarded her brother. "He let you sit on a barrel, I remember," she said.
"Oh, yes," returned Edgar; "and speaking of barrels," he went on, a belligerent spark glowing in his eyes, "a ripping thing happened. All this old stuff came over while we were there, and among them a barrel of dishes. Well, Sidney opened it and began taking out the things, but instead of the coarse stuff Eliza had meant to give him, there were gold-banded china, and colonial silver tea-things—"
Mrs. Fabian's backbone suddenly seemed of steel. "Aunt Mary had a few fine old things," she interrupted.
"Well, there they were. She'd given Sidney the wrong barrel. You should have seen her face. She was ready to faint."
"You say she leaves to-night?" Mrs. Fabian's eyes were looking far away through the wall of her house toward Gramercy Park. "Philip won't want the care of those delicate old things," she added. "I'll get some proper ones for him in the morning."
Edgar laughed gleefully, none the less that Kathleen's lips were grave.
"If I were you, mother," said the girl, "I would let them work it out. Eliza seems to have taken the helm over there."
"Of course she has," agreed Mrs. Fabian sharply. "Taking is Eliza's forte. That china and silver belonged to my grandmother. If Aunt Mary didn't have enough thoughtfulness to leave it to me in writing, is that any reason it should not be mine?"