“It is if one cares for such things. I am afraid I don’t appreciate them. They may be well enough in their place, but—”
She finished with a shrug of her shoulders. Captain Elisha smiled.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said politely, joining in the conversation; “that’s what the boy said about the cooky crumbs in the bed. You don’t care for the country, I take it, ma’am.”
“I do not!”
“So? Well, it’s a mercy we don’t think alike; even Heaven would be crowded if we did—hey? You didn’t come from the country, either?” turning to Miss Sherborne.
The young lady would have liked to answer with an uncompromising negative. Truth and the fact that some of those present were acquainted with it compelled her to forego this pleasure.
“I was born in a—a small town,” she answered coldly. “But I came to the city as soon as I possibly could.”
“Um-hm. Well, I came when I couldn’t possibly stay away. We can agree on one thing—we’re all here. Yes, and on another—that that cake is fust-rate. I’ll take a second piece, if you’ve no objection, Mrs. Hepton.”
When they were alone once more, in the captain’s room, Pearson vented his indignation.
“Why didn’t you give them as good as they sent?” he demanded. “Couldn’t you see they were doing their best to hurt your feelings?”