“It is, indeed.”
“I hope you don’t miss the nest-egg.”
“You mustn’t call it a nest-egg! That’s a stale thing, or a china one that they leave in, I don’t know why—for an example, or a pattern, or a suggestion,” said Tommy, laughing. “An egg from the nest is Miss Scattergood’s phrase, and it means a new-laid one.”
“Oh, I see!—well, do you regret it?”
“Certainly not, with this sumptuous repast just beginning!”
“You always give me an appetite,” exclaimed Appleton.
“It’s a humble function, but not one to be despised,” Tommy answered mischievously, fencing, fencing every minute, with her heart beating against her ribs like a sledge-hammer.
Walter brought the fish and solicitously freed the wine card that had somehow crept under a cover of knives and forks.
“I beg ten thousand pardons. What will you drink, Miss Tucker? We must have a drop of something to cheer us at a farewell dinner. Here is a vintage champagne, a good honest wine that will hearten us up and leave no headache in its train.”
“I couldn’t to-night, Mr. Appleton; I really couldn’t.”