"I could not tear myself away," he said, his face illumined by a reminiscent afterglow.
"I am glad you couldn't. Did you and Chelda have your drive?"
"Yes, aunt," said the young lady.
"Then you came up here for cake and wine," said Miss Gastonguay, glancing at a bottle in a filigree case, and a silver cake basket on a tiny table. "You might offer Mrs. Mercer some. I don't believe she finished her tea."
"May I?" said Chelda, gracefully.
"No, thank you," and Derrice shook her light head.
"That whale of a woman drove her up-stairs," said Miss Gastonguay. "What do you think Mrs. Jonah wants now, Chelda?"
"I could never guess, aunt."
"To give a charity ball, to relieve the distress of the mill hands burnt out at Indian Gardens. 'Why don't you put your hand in your pocket, and pull out a donation?' I asked. 'What do you pretend to be giving to them for, when all you care for is to get up a midnight frolic for a lot of old married women who want to frisk about with young men, in gowns they ought to be ashamed of? They ought to be home taking care of their children. Go away with you; I have nothing for you. What I have for the mill hands I'll send direct.'"
"You must have annoyed her, aunt."