By this time they had reached her uncle’s house and she held out her hand as if to say good-bye. Her look was so sweet and winning as he took that little hand, awkwardly gloved as it was, that he felt an inward protest at being dismissed.
“Why may I not come in?” he said.
“There’s no one at home,” she answered, innocently, “the girls were all going to a tea.”
“Decidedly, I shall come in,” he said, as he rang the bell. “Why didn’t they take you to the tea?”
“O, they said they thought I wouldn’t care for it, and they were right.”
When the servant opened the door and ushered them into the drawing-room, he stopped to ask if he should serve tea there.
Carter hesitated a second, but Stafford said promptly:
“Yes, Thompson, you may. I am going to get Miss Ayr to give me a cup.”
So in a very few moments Carter found herself seated before the exquisitely appointed tea-tray, pouring out a fragrant cupful, for this pleasant and friendly man, who was evidently enjoying himself thoroughly.
There was an undeniable sense of pleasure in it. The room was so large and beautiful and luxurious; Thompson deferred to her wishes in such an agreeable manner; the tea was so good; the china and silver so delicate; the man facing her was so soigné in all the appointments of his dress—in short, there was about her everywhere the sense of ease and luxury which money alone brings—and Carter had never cared a rap for money! Her wants had been so few and small that they had always been readily supplied; in fact she had never before imagined the mere material comfort which it was possible to miss out of life.