“Thank you,” murmured Billy, demurely. “I'll remember that—when Pete and I disagree about the table decorations, and Dong Ling doesn't like the way I want my soup seasoned.”
An anxious frown showed on Bertram's face.
“Billy,” he said in a low voice, as the others laughed at her sally, “you needn't have Pete nor Dong Ling here if you don't want them.”
“Don't want them!” echoed Billy, indignantly. “Of course I want them!”
“But—Pete is old, and—”
“Yes; and where's he grown old? For whom has he worked the last fifty years, while he's been growing old? I wonder if you think I'd let Pete leave this house as long as he wants to stay! As for Dong Ling—”
A sudden movement of Bertram's hand arrested her words. She looked up to find Pete in the doorway.
“Dinner is served, sir,” announced the old butler, his eyes on his master's face.
William rose with alacrity, and gave his arm to Aunt Hannah.
“Well, I'm sure we're ready for dinner,” he declared.