Again the fair head bent itself towards the hearthrug. There was another whisper, and the elder girl bounced up and ran off.
“She has gone for a cup and saucer, and I am going to give you some fresh tea,” said Eve, smiling at the visitor as he sat in the Colonel’s chair, in that corner of the room which bore no traces of girlish litter. “I hope you don’t mind our waiting upon ourselves. We have only our old Yorkshire Nancy, and a little parlour-maid; and as it is the little maid’s afternoon out, here we are, five intelligent young people, ready to help each other.”
“I cannot conceive a more delightful spectacle. But why make fresh tea, Miss Marchant? I am sure there is some of your last brew which would do capitally for me.”
“If I did not know you are saying that for kindness, I might think you one of those unsympathetic people who don’t care for tea.”
“Do tea and sympathy go together?”
“I think most nice people are tea-drinkers. Indeed, it seems to me that tea is the link that holds society together. Oh, what should we do with our afternoons—however could we go and call upon people—if it were not for afternoon tea?”
“And I see that afternoon tea, with you young ladies, is a somewhat serious function,” said Vansittart, with a glance across the well-spread table to the pile of toast which Sophy was buttering.
The younger girls had come back, one with a china teapot, the other with a cup and saucer, and Eve was busy with her second brew.
“Please don’t laugh at us. We are a very irregular family in the matter of luncheon, and this is our hungriest meal.”
The youngest girl, who had resumed her seat on the hearthrug, was at this juncture seized with a giggling fit, which she vainly endeavoured to suppress, and which speedily communicated itself to the youngest but one, also seated on the rug.