“I want you to go out and treat them as you would any other of my friends,” said Miss Parrott.
And the butler with a sullen face but a back that expressed nothing but complete submission, stalked down the garden path to the big trees whence the happy sounds proceeded. And the scornful housemaid confided it all to the equally disdainful cook, who said never in her twenty-five years of service on the Parrott estate had she seen such goings on.
When the three were seated around the luncheon table in the handsome dining-room, Davie was quite overwhelmed at the array of silver and glass that shone upon the polished mahogany table. And Polly turned pale and only hoped they should neither of them do anything to disgrace Mamsie.
But although they didn’t know what to do with all the knives and forks, Miss Parrott never appeared to notice. Polly, who hadn’t been able to forget the disdainful butler, saw him back of Davie’s chair scornfully survey the efforts to carry the food up nicely to the small mouth and the color flew over her cheek. Then Miss Parrott said to him, “I sha’n’t require you any more. Bring me the bell—and I will ring if I need you.”
And the butler quite humble once more, brought the little silver bell from the massive sideboard heavy with ancestral plate, and went out of the room, his head lowered by several inches. Polly’s hot flush died down on her cheek, and things began to get comfortable.
“Now,” said Miss Parrott, when luncheon was over, “I am going to show you some things that I played with when I was a little girl.” She had a faint pink color on her sallow face, and she smiled as if quite content. But still she didn’t know what to do with her guests to make them happy.
David wanted to ask, “Were you ever a little girl?” as he looked the long, angular figure up and down, but he kept quite still.
“Oh, would you really?” cried Polly in delight.
“Yes,” said Miss Parrott, greatly pleased, “would you really like to see them?”
“Oh, we would—we would!” declared Polly.