"Oh, how are they?" asked Mrs. Wright with interest.
"They seemed to be all right. I hadn't seen 'em for years."
Mrs. Wright remembered Eliza's criticism of Mrs. Fabian on the occasion of the call she made upon her in New York.
"Just turn your head," she said, "and you can see right from where you are sitting the fine cottage Mr. Fabian built here five years ago in place of the old one his wife owned."
Eliza turned and looked out the window. Far across the field and an intervening wall she could see a house built of boulders, low and broad, and obtained glimpses of its wide verandas.
"It's a charming place," went on Mrs. Wright, "and they have a delightful small yacht. We became acquainted with them during the last fortnight of Violet's stay in the summer and she had a few fine sails with them."
Here the hostess rose and brought Eliza a cup of fragrant tea.
The guest started. "The idea of your waitin' on me, Mrs. Wright," she said humbly.
"Oh, making tea is fun, Eliza; and I want you to drink that before I take you to your room. This isn't any steam-heated apartment, as you remember."
As she spoke, Mrs. Wright took a cup of tea to her husband, who was sitting on the couch, occasionally lifting the valance and peering beneath, apparently vastly entertained by the feline explosions with which Pluto, his sharp teeth bared, spat at the intrusion.