Maida kissed the little curly, dusky head. “She looks fine,” she said approvingly. “I’m so glad I can give Silva such good news.”
“What time did you say you had to call there?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“It’s now half past eight,” Rosie said. “And here comes Laura with your breakfast.”
As Rosie disappeared with her sleeping burden, Laura appeared at the stairs carrying a tray.
“Hop back into bed, Maida Westabrook,” she said serenely. “You’re going to have your breakfast in bed this morning—like a princess.”
Maida meekly hopped back as ordered and Laura placed the tray on the bed in front of her. On it, the peel so divided that it looked like a great golden-petaled flower, was an orange; a dish of oatmeal; an egg in an egg cup; two pieces of toast; a small pitcher of milk; sugar. Around the plate was wreathed nasturtiums, flowers and leaves.
“Oh how good it looks!” Maida said; and then after a few moments of enthusiastic eating, “Oh, how good it tastes! How dainty you’ve made this tray, Laura! I’m sure you’re going to be the best housekeeper among us. You like housekeeping, don’t you?”
“I just love it,” Laura replied.