Missy didn't know why, at that sight, she had to fight off a spasm of laughter. She felt she must scream out in laughter, or die.
All at once she realized that Mr. Brown was speaking to her.
“What's the matter?” he was saying. “Want to sneeze?”
That struck her so funny that she laughed; and then she felt better.
“I was just terribly upset,” she found herself explaining almost naturally, “because I suddenly found myself eating the oyster cocktail with the coffee spoon.”
“Oh, isn't this the right implement?” queried Mr. Brown, contemplating his spoon. “Well, if you ask ME, I'm glad you started off with it—this soupy stuff'd be the mischief to get away with with a fork.”
Archibald Chesney wouldn't have talked that way. But, nevertheless, Missy let her eyelids lift up at him in a smile.
“I'm glad you didn't know it was a mistake,” she murmured. “I was TERRIBLY mortified.”
“Girls are funny,” Mr. Brown replied to that. “Always worrying over nothing.” He returned her smile. “But YOU needn't ever worry.”
What did he mean by that? But something in his dark eyes, gazing at her full, kept Missy from asking the question, made her swiftly lower her lashes.