“I have always heard the American hotels are so very well equipped,” said Miss Anderson. “Telephones in all the rooms and even tape machines.”
Milly could see Miss Anderson reading that tape machine.
“I should like to go to America awfully,” she cried, as Marie brought in the lamb and set it before Mother.
“There’s certainly nothing wrong with America,” said Mr. Prodger, soberly. “America’s a great country. What are they? Peas? Well, I’ll just take a few. I don’t eat peas as a rule. No, no salad, thank you. Not with the hot meat.”
“But what makes you want to go to America?” Miss Anderson ducked forward, smiling at Milly, and her eyeglasses fell into her plate, just escaping the gravy.
Because one wants to go everywhere, was the real answer. But Milly’s flower-blue gaze rested thoughtfully on Miss Anderson as she said, “The ice-cream. I adore ice-cream.”
“Do you?” said Mr. Prodger, and he put down his fork; he seemed moved. “So you’re fond of ice-cream, are you, Miss Fawcett?”
Milly transferred her dazzling gaze to him. It said she was.
“Well,” said Mr. Prodger quite playfully, and he began eating again, “I’d like to see you get it. I’m sorry we can’t manage to ship some across. I like to see young people have just what they want. It seems right, somehow.”
Kind man! Would he have any more lamb?