Mason seated the women, apparently entirely oblivious of the curious eyes at surrounding tables. “Go right ahead with your soup,” Mrs. Breel said. “Don’t let it get cold. We’ll catch up with you on the rest of the lunch.”
“I can’t eat a thing,” Virginia Trent said.
“Nonsense, Ginny. Go ahead and relax.”
“Really,” Mason urged, “you’ll find the cream of tomato soup very delicious. It’ll make you forget — the rain.”
She glanced at Mason’s steaming cup of soup, met Della Street’s friendly eyes, and said dubiously, “Food should never be eaten when one’s upset.”
“Don’t be upset, then,” the aunt said.
“Two more cream of tomato soups,” Mason told the waitress. “Rush them up right away, please. And I believe there’s one order of chicken croquettes and...”
“Make it two orders,” Mrs. Breel said. “Ginny likes chicken croquettes. And two pots of tea, my dear, with lemon. And make the tea rather strong.”
She settled back in the chair with a sigh of complete satisfaction. “I always like to eat here,” she said, “they have such wonderful cooking. And, so far, the service has been excellent. This is the only time I’ve had occasion to make any complaint.”
Mason’s eyes twinkled to those of Della Street, then back to Mrs. Breel. “It is,” he said, “a shame that you were annoyed.”