“Why, Cal, you astonish me!” exclaimed Elsie. “Have I ever shown myself so inhospitable that you have a right to suppose I would let relatives go to a hotel when I can make room for them in my home?”
“I didn’t think you could, cousin,” he returned.
“I both can and will, if I am allowed the opportunity; it is only a little crowding that is necessary. Mr. Conly can take his brother the doctor into his room to share his bed, Cousin Ronald and his son can share another—and there is a spare room waiting for them—while Marian can be taken in with some of us. I have not thought it all out yet, but am confident I can soon arrange it.”
“Oh, easily, cousin,” said Mary, “for Rosie and I could easily take Lulu or Grace, or both of them, into our room. Crowding at the sea-shore is nothing new, and I do not think it will be at all unpleasant to me.”
“You are a dear, good girl, Mary,” was Elsie’s smiling response as she turned and hastened back to the house.
“She has her full share of the Southern virtue of hospitality,” remarked Calhoun, looking after her with admiring eyes.
“Do you consider it a specially Southern virtue?” queried Mary with a little laugh of amusement.
“I beg your pardon,” returned Calhoun gallantly, “and acknowledge that I have seen no lack of the virtue in question since coming up North, but I have always heard it spoken of as particularly characteristic of my native section of the Union, though I dare say that is altogether a mistake.”
“I shall try to convince you of that one of these days,” she said with a smiling look up into his eyes.
When Mrs. Travilla reached the house, there was first a short consultation among the older members of the family, then a pleasant little bustle of preparation for the expected, welcome guests, who it was found could be easily accommodated without greatly disturbing or interfering with the comfort of any one else.