"Excellent. I will say it for Hepsey that she hasn't her beat as a cook; been at it long enough," she added, in expiation of her praise.
"Temperance, is that pound cake, or sponge?"
"Pound."
"Charles can eat it," Verry said with a sigh.
"A mighty small piece he'll have—the glutton. But he has not been here long; they are all so when they first come."
She then gave him a large slice of the cake.
Veronica, contrary to her wont, huddled herself on the sofa. Arthur played round the chair of mother, who looked happy and forgetful. After Temperance had rearranged the table for father's supper we were quiet. I meditated how I could best amuse myself, where I should go, and what I should do, when Veronica, whom I had forgotten, interrupted my thoughts.
"Mother," she said, "eating toast does not make me better-tempered; I feel evil still. You know," turning to me, "that my temper is worse than ever; it is like a tiger's."
"Oh, Verry," said mother, "not quite so bad; you are too hard upon yourself."
"Mother, you said so to Hepsey, when I tore her turban from her head, it was so ugly. Can you forget you said such a thing?"