“Before long,” she thought, “I’ll be doing the same thing. I wonder how it will feel?” And she laughed aloud, drawing the attention of the others suddenly to herself.
“I was just thinking, Marie Louise, that before long we’ll be serving luncheon to perfect strangers ourselves.”
“That’s funny!” chuckled John. “I was just thinking that myself. I was trying to picture you, Marjorie, with one of those little white affairs on your head, and an apron around your waist.”
“Well, sir? And how shall I look?” asked the girl.
“Oh—very nice!” stammered John, blushing furiously, and glancing slyly in embarrassment at his mother and Marie Louise, as they all laughed at his confusion.
“Let’s go sit at the table,” suggested Marjorie, somewhat confused herself. “I want to see just how it’s done.”
As they left their seat beneath the trees, and took places at the table, the maid reappeared with a tray.
“I never thought to consult you ladies about what to order,” John apologized; “so I hope you’ll find these things to your liking.”
“This toast is delicious,” announced Marjorie.
“And the chicken-salad looks most inviting. Oh, it is a weakness of mine!” commented Marie Louise.