“I will not say that I am engaged at all, in any sense,” said Phyllis, with a very shallow laugh, at laugh that sounded like a ripple among pebbles; her usual laugh was like a ripple upon a silver sand.
“In any sense—for Tuesday week?”
Ella raised her eyebrows to the extent of the eighth of an inch. She lowered them in a moment, however, for the tea was being brought in. It required two able-bodied men (in plush) to carry in a dainty little silver tray, with a little silver tea-pot of a pattern that silversmiths, for reasons which have never been fully explained, call “Queen Anne.” One of the men, however, devoted himself to the care of the hot cakes of various subtle types which were inclosed in silver covered dishes.
With the lowering of her eyebrows Mrs. Linton’s voice lost its previous inflection.
“I have been fortunate enough to hit upon something distinctly new in that way”—she indicated the muffin dishes. “A cake that may be eaten hot without removing one’s gloves.”
“What a boon!” cried Phyllis. “You got it at Vienna, of course.”
“Of course. You will learn all about it when you come.”
The able-bodied men withdrew, and before the door was quite closed behind them, Ella was gazing at her friend, her face alight with inquiry.
“Now pray explain yourself,” she whispered. “Not engaged in any sense—those were your words. What do they mean?”
“Take them literally, my Ella,” said Phyllis.