"Oh, no, you misunderstand. It wasn't Uncle John." Every one but Kimberly laughed. "I was telling Uncle John the story, and his nurse--your protégé, what's his name? I never can remember--Lazarus? the queer little Italian," she said, appealing to Kimberly.
"Brother Francis," he answered.
"He's not so awfully little," interposed Fritzie.
"Well, he was in the room," continued Dora, "and he got perfectly furious the moment he heard it."
"Furious, Dora? Why, how funny!" exclaimed Lottie Nelson, languidly.
"He turned on me like a thunder-cloud. Poor Uncle John was still laughing--he laughs on one side of his face since his stroke, and looks so fiendish, you know--when Lazarus began to glower at me. He was really insulting in his manner. 'Oh, I didn't know you were here,' I said to hush him up. 'What difference should that make?' he asked, and his eyes were flashing, I can tell you."
"'The Virgin Mary is no relation of yours, is she?' I demanded frigidly. You ought to have seen the man. You know how sallow he is; he flushed to the roots of his hair and his lips snapped like a trap. Then he became ashamed of himself, I dare say, and his eyes fell; he put his hand on his breast and bowed to me as if I had been a queen--they certainly have the prettiest manners, these poor Italians--haven't they, Imogene?"
"But what did he say?" asked Fritzie.
"'Madame,' he exclaimed, as if I had stabbed him to the heart, 'the Blessed Virgin is my mother.' You really would have thought I had insulted his own mother. They have such queer ideas, these foreigners. My, but he was mad! Then, what do you think? The next day I passed him walking up from the lake and he came over with such apologies! He prayed I would overlook his anger--he professed to have been so shocked that he had forgotten himself--no doubt he was afraid he would lose his job."
"George, you look sleepy," Lottie Nelson complained, looking at Doane. "You need something to wake you up. Suppose we adjourn to the dining-room?"