Lady Canning smiled in a gratified manner. "I am amply repaid, if you are pleased, my dear child."
Jennings then brought in the tea. He looked so aged, Indiana felt like jumping up and taking the tray from him, at the same time pushing him gently into an arm-chair. He was a little, thin old man with sharp features and blue eyes, his snow-white hair plastered smoothly on each side of his head. He had been in the family since a boy, and, as is generally so in such cases, his individuality, his interests, or, properly speaking, his entire life, had become absorbed in those whom he had served. His position now was purely nominal, consisting principally of light duties, which kept him in near proximity to the family.
Lady Canning, talking in her low, distinct tones, dispensed the tea from a very old massive tea-service. Indiana noticed that she never raised her voice, and she dropped her own insensibly. She was, wisely, not too profuse in her praises of her apartments, quick to see that Lady Canning was not of a nature to appreciate much demonstration. But she continued to show her gratitude delicately by an opportune remark now and then.
"I have not heard much from your Uncle Nelson," remarked Lady Canning. "Oh, don't worry about him," laughed Indiana. "He's enjoying himself immensely—isn't he, Thurston?"
"Yes, my darling. He has really quite assimilated himself with the American life, mother."
"Indeed! You surprise me. One would have thought at his age, that that would have been very difficult—"
"Oh, not at all," interrupted Indiana. "You see, my grandmother has taken him in charge. They go out together, everywhere."
"Your grandmother," repeated Lady Canning, raising her eyebrows. "And she is able to go out—everywhere?"
Indiana gave vent to a burst of merriment, then checked herself, suddenly. Her laughter had sounded very loud in those quiet surroundings. "Grandma Chazy enjoys life more than any of us. She's full of health and spirits."
"Remarkable, is it not, Thurston?"