A window closed with a crash to shut out contamination from such vulgar sources.
As the army truck and its crew noisily departed, another machine entered the grounds. It was a quiet car, not given to loud or uncouth uproar. Stealing up the driveway, it stopped. Mr. Vivian emerged, garbed in spotless white. Other soft stepping, mild mannered men, similarly clothed, accompanied him, bearing freezers of cream and boxes of cake.
Serena entered into conference with the caterer. “Des ole ladies dey wants der tea mo’e den yo’alls sweet stuff.”
Mr. Vivian appeared pained at such taste.
Serena went on, “Ah’s gwine mek de tea in de kitchen an’ surve it an’ de sandwiches outen de side do’.”
Disgust sat upon Mr. Vivian’s features. “I shall serve the cream from under the trees, in the cool fresh air,” he announced.
“You gwine surve it full o’ bugs an’ flies den,” predicted Serena.
Mr. Vivian, through the exercise of self-control, stood mute.
Serena sought information. “Who gwine surve ma tea an’ ma sandwiches?” she inquired.
Mr. Vivian whistled a few measures of melody, softly. Being thus engaged, he could not respond.