"Jam?" says Mr. Browne, growing animated. "What kind of jam?"
"Plum jam."
"You don't say so?" says Mr. Browne, with unaffected interest. "Where are you going to make it?"
"In the kitchen, of course. Did you think I was going to make it here, you silly boy?" She is giving herself airs now, and is treating Dicky to some gentle badinage.
"Are the plums in the kitchen?" asked he, regardless of her new-born dignity, which is very superior, indeed.
"I hope so," she says, calmly.
"Then I'll go and make the jam with you," declares Mr. Browne, genially.
"Are you really going to make it?" asks Julia, opening her eyes to their widest. "Really? Who told you how to do it?"
"Oh, I have known all about it for years," said Dulce, airily.
Every one is getting interested now—even Roger looks up from his book. His quarrel with Dulce on the night of her ball has been tacitly put aside by both, and though it still smoulders and is likely at any moment to burst again into a flame, is carefully pushed out of sight for the present.