"I'm not late," and in a moment Priscilla was with her. "I came in without ringing, as the door was partly open."
To Priscilla Martine explained the secret of the dinner.
"Angelina will wait on table, though I don't see how she'll manage. But if there's any chance to help things on, you'll do so, won't you?"
"With pleasure," replied Priscilla, not realizing just what her promise might involve.
As it happened the dinner went on very smoothly from beginning to end, at least almost to the end. Mrs. Tilworth was in her most amiable frame of mind, even condescending to smile at some of the inane jokes perpetrated by the two Sophomores. This was doubtless due to her having a soft spot in her heart for boys in general, as her only son had died when he was six years old.
Mrs. Stratford, it is true, looked somewhat mystified at Angelina's occasional long absences in the kitchen. But at these moments Martine and Priscilla managed to introduce interesting subjects for discussion, whereby their elders were diverted from observing the remissness of their waitress.
Before the dessert, however, the wait was suspiciously long. Mrs. Tilworth, in an aside, had just been complimenting Mrs. Stratford on her daughter's ease of manner, when looking up she saw Martine gesticulating and frowning, apparently at Priscilla. A moment later Priscilla had dashed from the room through the door into the kitchen.
"What's up?" asked Robert.
"What's down?" added Lucian, as a tremendous crash fell on their ears.
"Oh, it's nothing," responded Martine, reddening. She felt Mrs. Tilworth's keen eye upon her and wished that Priscilla had acted less impulsively. Mrs. Stratford fanned herself nervously. There were disadvantages, she began to think, in apartment housekeeping with a limited staff.