"I don't like," called out Alice shrilly, going straight on.
Kit giggled at intervals all the way home.
Mrs. Murchison's cup of happiness was very full that evening. Though the quiet little dinner had grown about eighteen, yet everyone was of Kit's own particular set, and it was what Kit called a "Christian dinner"—that is to say, everyone called each other by their Christian names. "So much nicer than a heathen dinner," she said to Mrs. Murchison. "You may meet cannibals there."
Mrs. Murchison herself was taken in by Tom Abbotsworthy, and it is doubtful which of them enjoyed their conversation most. She was enchanted to find herself with him, and her own remarks were really memorable.
"I just adore English society," she said over the first mouthfuls of soup. "Our brightest talkers in America cannot be compared with the ordinary clubmen in London. And the dinners, how charming!"
"You find people amusing?" asked Tom.
"Yes, and the substantiality of it. Not only the viands and the drinks, but the really improving conversation—the—the tout à fait."
Tom had the greatest of all social gifts—gravity.
"You think people have less tout à fait in America?" he asked.