(Dear old faithful Ben!—to think of how his devotion to tippling Tim had brought Edward Brown into her life!)
She felt a stranger to herself. Something in her soared intoxicatingly. The sound of her own gay chatter came to her from afar—as from a stranger. Mr. Brown kept on looking at her.
The butler appeared, bringing the oyster cocktails (a genteel delicacy possible in an inland midsummer thanks to the canning industry), and proceeded to serve them with empressement.
The butler was really the climactic triumph of the event. And he was Missy's own inspiration. She had been racking her brains for some way to eliminate the undistinguished Marguerite, to conjure through the very strength of her desire some approach to a proper servitor. If only they had ONE of those estimable beings in Cherry vale! A butler, preferably elderly, and “steeped in respectability” up to his port-wine nose; one who would hover around the table, adjusting this dish affectionately and straightening that, and who, whenever he left the room, left it with a velvet step and an almost inaudible sigh of satisfaction...
And then, quite suddenly, she had hit upon the idea of “Snowball” Saunders. Snowball had come to the house to borrow the Merriams' ice-cream freezer. There was to be an informal “repast” at the Shriners' hall, and Snowball engineered all the Shriners' gustatory festivities from “repasts” to “banquets.” Sometimes, at the banquets, he even wore a dress suit. It was of uncertain lineage and too-certain present estate, yet it was a dress suit. It was the recollection of the dress suit that had given Missy her inspiration. To be sure, in England, butlers were seldom “coloured,” but in Cherry vale one had to make some concessions.
The butler was wearing his dress suit as he came bearing the oyster cocktails.
“Hello, Snowball!” greeted Raymond Bonner, genially. “Didn't know you were invited to-night.”
Snowball? what a gosherie! With deliberate hauteur Missy spoke:
“Oh, Saunders, don't forget to fill the glasses with ice-water.”
Raymond cast her an astonished look, but, perhaps because he was more impressed by the formality of the function than he would have admitted, refrained from any bantering comment.