Mrs. Lem bowed affably, and the three went out and closed the door.
Sylvia moved to the dimity-draped dresser and took off her hat. She smiled at the memory of her recent interview. "Cousin Thinkright says she can cook, though," she reflected. "I hope he's a judge."
CHAPTER IX
EDNA DERWENT
The supper was good, and for many weeks Sylvia had not eaten so hungrily. Minty's eyes continued to devour her as the guest devoured the biscuit and honey; and it required an occasional warning, "Eat your supper, Minty," from Mrs. Lem, to deliver Sylvia periodically from the round, expressionless stare.
"What delicious milk!" said the girl, as she set down her empty glass; "and this cream would make city people open their eyes."
"It don't seem to me it's quite as rich as common," returned Mrs. Lem. "We often have it so thick it has to be dilated with water."
Sylvia met Thinkright's eyes and laughed. "That is a frequent necessity in the city," she said. "I wish it weren't."
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Lem raised her eyebrows, "I know it. Of course it takes such legions o' milk to supply the cities you can't trust 'em around a pump. Have some more o' the lobsters, Miss Lacey."