“Now, won’t you take something before you go?” she asked. “Ruth, I have the loveliest cakes.”
“Oh, Jennie,” remonstrated Ruth, as her cousin bustled off, “we have just dined.”
“Let her enjoy herself,” observed Louis; “she is never so happy as when she is feeding somebody.”
The clink of glasses was soon heard, and Mrs. Lewis’s rosy face appeared behind a tray with tiny glasses and a plate of rich, brown-looking little cakes.
“Jo, get the Kirsch. You must try one, Ruth; I made them myself.”
When they had complimented her on her cakes and Louis had drunk to his next undertaking, suggested by Jo Lewis, the visitors departed.
They had been walking in almost total silence for a number of blocks, when Ruth turned suddenly to him and said with great earnestness,—
“Louis, what is the matter with you? For the last few days you have hardly spoken to me. Have I done anything to annoy you?”
“You? Why, no, not that I remember.”
“Then, please, before we go off, be friendly with me again.”