"Wha-at?" demanded Mrs. Blake; then she flushed scarlet. "Weather doesn't count," she finished flippantly.
"No? Oh!" smiled Mrs. Howland.
"Fine muffins, these!" spoke up Mr. Blake, a little later. "New cook—eh?"
"Yes," replied his wife. "But they're graham. I 'd much rather have had corn-cake."
"There are not so many—crumbs to graham," observed Mrs. Howland musingly.
There was no reply. The man of the house looked slightly dazed. His wife bit her lip, and choked a little over her coffee. Through the rest of the meal Mrs. Blake confined herself almost exclusively to monosyllables, leaving the conversation to her husband and guest.
At ten the sky cleared, and Mrs. Blake ordered the horses.
"We can't drive far," she began discontentedly, "for I ordered an early luncheon as we have tickets for a concert this afternoon. I wanted to go away out beyond the Newtons, but now we'll have to take a little snippy one."
"Oh, I don't mind," rejoined her guest pleasantly. "Where one can't have the whole cake one must be satisfied with—crumbs."
"Why, I don't see"—began Kate aggressively; then she stopped, and nervously tapped her foot.