"You shan't have one bit of my jam," she says, threatening Dicky with a huge silver spoon; "see if you do! After all, cook," turning to that portly matron, "I think I'm tired to-day. Suppose you make this jam; and I can make some more some other time."
As she says this, she unfastens both the aprons and flings them far from her, and pulls down her sleeves over her pretty white arms, to Gower's everlasting regret, who cannot take his eyes off them, and to whom they are a "joy forever."
"Come, let us go up-stairs again," says Dulce to her assembled friends, who have all suddenly grown very grave.
In silence they follow her, until once more the hall is gained and the kitchen forgotten. Then Dicky Browne gives way to speech.
"I am now quite convinced," he says, slowly, "that to watch the making of plum jam is the most enthralling sport in the world. It was so kind of you, dear Dulce, to ask us to go down to see it. I don't know when I have enjoyed myself so much."
"We have been disgracefully taken in," says Julia, warmly.
"And she didn't even offer us a single plum!" says Mr. Browne, tearfully.
"You shall have some presently, with your tea," says Dulce, remorsefully. "Let us go and sit upon the verandah, and say what we thought of our dance. No one has said anything about it yet."
Though late in September, it is still "one of those heavenly days that cannot die." The sun is warm in the heavens, though gradually sinking, poor tired god, toward his hard-earned rest. There are many softly-colored clouds on the sky.
Tea is brought to them presently, and plums for Dicky; and then they are all, for the most part, happy.