'Papa, you have an angelic nature,' she said; 'and how you can sit there chewing crackers and sipping milk without throwing the table things at me I can't conjecture.'
'Habit of self-control, Amelie,' said he, his eyes smiling at her; 'perhaps you will learn it some day. When does your mother come down?'
'This afternoon, with the two English folk. She's been telephoning all the morning. When mamma gets hold, real tight hold, of the telephone, she doesn't let go under an hour or two. Now, I'm not like that. The moment I ring anyone up, I forget what I was going to say, and have to ask them to dinner instead. I guess you and mamma took all the brains of the family. Papa, I had the heavenliest ride this morning, all through the fir-woods, and Tamburlaine wanted to jump the sound. The daisies are all coming out, and it smelt so good. Oh, it smelt so good, like—like a drug store. There's the telephone again!'
Mr. Palmer considered this a moment.
'When your mother gave her hunting-party last year,' he said, 'she commenced ringing the telephone at half-past ten in the morning, and she was late for lunch because she hadn't finished. Top speed all the time, too. She takes things seriously; that's why she comes out on top every time.'
'Yes, some more,' said Amelie to the footman.
Mr. Palmer looked quickly at the dish as it was handed her.
'What mess is that?' he asked.
'Pigeons once,' said she; 'it won't be anything in a minute or two.'
'There ought to be mushrooms in the stew. It's meant to be à la Toulon. I've forgotten more about cookery than our present chef ever knew.'