“I bet YOU could start eating with a toothpick and get away with it,” he went on.
Did he mean her social savoir-faire—or did he mean—
Just then the butler appeared at her left hand to remove the cocktail course. She felt emboldened to remark, with an air of ease:
“Oh, Saunders, don't forget to lay the spoons when you serve the demi-tasses.”
Mr. Brown laughed.
“Oh, say!” he chortled, “you ARE funny when you hand out that highfalutin stuff!”
No; he surely hadn't meant admiration for her savoir-faire; yet, for some reason, Missy didn't feel disappointed. She blushed, and found it entrancingly difficult to lift her eyelids.
The function, rather stiffly and quite impressively, continued its way without further contretemps. It was, according to the most aristocratic standards, highly successful. To be sure, after the guests had filed solemnly from the table and began to dance on the porches, something of the empressement died away; but Missy was finding Mr. Brown too good a dancer to remember to be critical. She forgot altogether, now, to compare him with the admired Archibald.
Missy danced with Mr. Brown so much that Raymond Bonner grew openly sulky. Missy liked Raymond, and she was sure she would never want to do anything unkind—yet why, at the obvious ill temper of Raymond Bonner, did she feel a strange little delicious thrill?
Oh, she was having a glorious time!