“Oh, Mary doesn’t care for strawberries,” said Imogene carelessly.
“Yes, I do,” said Mary, who that moment entered. “I think they are beautiful.”
Imogene frowned.
“Oh, well, empty the dish if you like,” said she rudely.
“If she does, she won’t have as much as we have eaten,” said Tom. “Let me help you, Miss Mary.”
And to Imogene’s vexation he deposited the remaining strawberries in a plate and handed them to Mary.
“Thank you,” said Mary, and chafed by her cousin’s rudeness she defiantly seasoned and ate the strawberries.
Imogene rose abruptly while Mary was still eating.
“Come into the parlor, Mr. Temple,” she said. “I would like to show a piece of music which my music-teacher just brought me.”
“You must excuse me, Miss Davenport,” said Tom, bowing. “I have not been home since morning, and I need to change my dress as well as your cousin.”