“La!” spoke Betty, arranging the folds of her paduasoy gown complacently, “when a man is so remiss as to forget the refreshments one must dare.”
“I verily believe that she could manage your friend, Fairfax,” commented Robert Dale laughing. “Would that I might be there to see it.”
“I kept an account of everything he said for Betty’s especial delectation,” said Peggy. “She named him the ‘Silent Knight,’ and it was very appropriate.”
“Now why for my delectation instead of thine, or Sally’s?” queried Betty.
“Why, Sally and I are such workaday damsels that we are not accustomed to handling such problems,” explained Peggy demurely. “Thou art the only belle in the Social Select Circle, and having been instructed in French, I hear very thoroughly, thou hast waxed proficient in matters regarding the sterner sex.”
“Nonsense! Nonsense!” ejaculated Betty. She sat up quickly, and sniffed the air daintily. “Peggy Owen,” she cried, “do I in very truth smell pepper-pot?”
“Thee does. I thought that would please thee. And Sally, too, but Robert——” She glanced at the lad inquiringly.
“Robert is enough of a Quaker to enjoy pepper-pot,” answered he emphatically. “This weather is the very time for it too.”
“We’ll forgive thy desertion of us so long as thee was making pepper-pot,” declared Sally.
“Well, Robert hath not had leave for three years, so mother and I thought we must do what we could to give him a good dinner.”