"I will go into the next room, if you please," said Mary Grey.
And he arose and opened the back door of the cottage parlor and held it open for her.
She passed through into a prettily-furnished and well-lighted little bed-room, whose back windows opened upon the fragrant flower-garden.
Here she found everything prepared for her comfort, as if it had been done by the hands of a woman. She took off her bonnet and shawl, brushed her clothes, bathed her face and hands, smoothed her raven ringlets, took a fresh cambric handkerchief from her pocket and saturated it with Cologne from the toilet-table, and then passed out again into the parlor.
Her devoted slave was waiting for [her] there. And on the table, in addition to the other comforts, there was a little silver pot of rich aromatic coffee.
"Why, have you a cook?" inquired Mrs. Grey, in some disturbance.
"No, darling; I made that coffee myself. Sit down now and try it," smiled the poor fellow.
"You are a jewel!" she said, as all her disturbance disappeared, and she sat down to the table.
He waited on her with affectionate solicitude, helping her to coffee and cream, to chicken salad and pickled oysters; changing her plate and pressing her to try the jellies and the cakes, or the fruit and ices, until she had feasted like a princess.
He, in the meantime, ate but little, seeming to feed upon the sight of her enjoyment. At length she pushed her plate and cup away and declared she could touch nothing more.