An odd smile crossed her face.
"They are mortals," she said. "I don't quite know what to make of them, but I mean to like them, Nan. I cannot afford to quarrel with my bread and butter."
"Still, I do think that they might have behaved a little more like 'guests' at luncheon," I said. "Mr. Dicks asked for 'crackers' just as if he were in an hotel."
"I must confess that I felt rather riled for a moment," said my aunt; "but I am sure he did not mean to annoy me. They are evidently used to hotel life, and they cannot guess, nor do I wish that they should, how it feels to me to receive strangers thus into my home. My common-sense tells me that I must not allow myself to be over-sensitive. I only hope Mr. Faulkner will like them."
"He seems to like them," I said.
Indeed I had been astonished to see the friendly interest in the newcomers which he displayed, and the readiness with which he talked to them.
The following day was Easter Sunday, and for once the weather was all that one could wish it to be upon that day. It was not exactly warm, but the sun shone brightly, and there was a delicious, indescribable feeling of spring in the air. The trees were budding, and the hedges breaking into leaf. Every day now showed some fresh sign of spring's advance.
We all went to church in the morning. Mr. Dicks was struck with the venerable beauty of our church, but he was severe in his criticism of the service and the sermon. He had no patience with the defects of our choir, and certainly their singing was very rural. He was anxious to impress us with the superior order of things to be found in America.
Jack joined us after the service, and we all, with the exception of my aunt, took a short walk before luncheon. Mr. Dicks explained that he was not fond of walking, but that his doctor had advised him to walk several miles every day. His daughter frankly said that she hated it, and certainly the smart pointed shoes she wore appeared ill adapted to our country roads. I saw Mr. Faulkner looking at them, and wondered whether he were admiring, or merely struck, as I was, with their unsuitability.
"Pollie is fond of cycling," said Mr. Dicks, looking at me. "Do you cycle?"