Hephzy did not fancy Heathcroft. She had liked him well enough during our first acquaintance aboard the steamer, but now, when she knew him better, she did not fancy him. His lofty, condescending manner irritated her and, as he seemed to enjoy joking at her expense, the pair had some amusing set-tos. I will say this for Hephzy: In the most of these she gave at least as good as she received.
For example: we were sitting about the tea-table on the lawn, Hephzy, Frances, Doctor and Mrs. Bayliss, their son, and Heathcroft. The conversation had drifted to the subject of eatables, a topic suggested, doubtless, by the plum cake and cookies on the table. Mr. Heathcroft was amusing himself by poking fun at the American custom of serving cereals at breakfast.
“And the variety is amazing,” he declared. “Oats and wheat and corn! My word! I felt like some sort of animal—a horse, by Jove! We feed our horses that sort of thing over here, Miss Cahoon.”
Hephzy sniffed. “So do we,” she admitted, “but we eat 'em ourselves, sometimes, when they're cooked as they ought to be. I think some breakfast foods are fine.”
“Do you indeed? What an extraordinary taste! Do you eat hay as well, may I ask?”
“No, of course we don't.”
“Why not? Why draw the line? I should think a bit of hay might be the—ah—the crowning tit-bit to a breakfasting American. Your horses and donkeys enjoy it quite as much as they do oats, don't they?”
“Don't know, I'm sure. I'm neither a horse nor a donkey, I hope.”
“Yes. Oh, yes. But I assure you, Miss Morley, I had extraordinary experiences on the other side. I visited in a place called Milwaukee and my host there insisted on my trying a new cereal each morning. We did the oats and the corn and all the rest and, upon my word, I expected the hay. It was the only donkey food he didn't have in the house, and I don't see why he hadn't provided a supply of that.”
“Perhaps he didn't know you were comin',” observed Hephzy, cheerfully. “Won't you have another cup, Mrs. Bayliss? Or a cooky or somethin'?”