“Serve the supper in here, Polly. The dining-room is too cold, I think,” he said.
“Yes, marster,” the woman replied and went out.
“It is in the northwest angle of the house, and has four large windows—two north and two west—which shake and rattle, and let in the wind when it blows, as it does now, from that quarter; and also sends the smoke in volumes down the chimney. So I think it will be more comfortable for us to eat supper here,” Mr. Cleve explained as he bent forward and spread his thin, fair hands to the fire.
“I am sure there could not be a pleasanter room than this,” said Palma from her low rocker as she basked in the warm glow.
“Ah-h-h!” added Stuart with a sigh of deep satisfaction as he rubbed his hands.
The woman soon came back with faded felt crumb cloth in her arms, which she went on to lay down on the shining oak floor.
She was followed by a colored girl with the table damask in her hands. Between them they set the table, adorning it with rare old china and antique silver. And then a good supper, in honor of the new arrivals, as well as in consideration of the weary and hungry travelers. There was tea, coffee and chocolate, milk, cream and butter, rolls, waffles and cakes, ham, poultry and game, eggs, cheese and fruit—variety, without superabundance.
Mr. Cleve arose and invited his relatives to take their seats, and himself led Palma to the head of the table, saying pleasantly:
“This is your place henceforth, my child—a place that has not been filled since my dear niece, your husband’s mother, married and left me.”
Palma raised and kissed the pale hand that led her, and then sat down before the tea tray.