“Where did you get this old service, Uncle?” Ruth asked as she lifted the elongated, graceful coffee-pot by its ebony handle and began to pour the coffee.
“Martha must have unearthed that from the cupboard upstairs,” answered her uncle. “The salver has been put away for years. It belonged to your great-grandmother. But how did they manage to give it such a polish?”
“Miss Adgate's maid helped me, sir,” Martha vouchsafed in her primmest voice. “We tried that new powder. It took no time at all.”
She left the room with her chin up as who should say: “We know the proper thing to do, when there's someone at hand who knows we ought to know it.”
“Well!” exclaimed Rutherford, confounded.
“Ruth's a mistress as gives satisfaction,” General Adgate laughed softly while Martha's footsteps receded towards the kitchen. “I believe, Rutherford, we'll be having our afternoon tea here yet, in the British fashion.”
“Ma, da vero! come si fa?” cried Ruth, lapsing into Italian in her surprise, “don't you always have afternoon tea?”
“We have tea, Miss Adgate,” Rutherford answered merrily, “tea with cold meat, stewed fruit and cake at six o'clock. Not a minute later, mind you. Martha and Bridget have something better to do than to be serving even you all day. By seven of the clock one is off with one's young man or running over to mother's.... You need not inquire at what hour we get back, we have the latch-key, and your breakfast's generally served on time.” Ruth cast a wild look at General Adgate.
He bowed his diminished head: “I'm afraid it's true,” he murmured.
“Is it—a—universal habit,—in Oldbridge?” asked Ruth, her eyes dancing.