“Hush, dear,” said Charlotte, painfully.
“Here, son, pass your plate for this chicken,” said Anderson; and Eddy, with a shrewd glance of half-comprehension from one to the other, passed his plate and subsided, after a muttered remark that he didn't see why Charlotte minded.
“Wasn't that a bully supper?” he whispered, pressing close to his sister when they entered the sitting-room after the meal was finished.
“Hush, dear,” she whispered back.
“Ain't you glad you stayed? You wouldn't, if it hadn't been for me.”
Charlotte turned and looked at him sharply. Mrs. Anderson had lingered in the dining-room to give some directions to the maid, and Anderson had stepped out on the porch for a second's puff at a cigar.
“Eddy Carroll,” said she, in a whisper, “you didn't?”
Eddy faced her defiantly. “Didn't what?”
“You didn't tell a lie about that?”
Eddy lowered his eyes, frowned, and scraped one foot in a way he had when embarrassed. “Amy did say something about it was such a pleasant day and Addison,” he replied, doggedly.