Both knew what was in the other’s thoughts. Copeland bowed slightly, and crossed to Eaton, who was gazing fixedly at the gathering glories of the sunset.
Jerry, in a gray suit, and the very tallest collar he could buy, now added himself to the group. He bent over Mrs. Copeland’s hand with his best imitation of Eaton’s manner, and then, as he raised his head, looked around furtively to see whether his mentor was watching him.
The laughter that greeted this had the effect of putting them all at ease.
“I knew Jerry could do it,” said Nan, “but I didn’t suppose he would dare try it in his Cecil’s presence.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” remarked Eaton, feigning indignation at their treatment of his protégé. “If you’re not satisfied with Jeremiah’s manners, we’ll both go home.”
Nan ran away to change her clothes and reappeared just as dinner was announced.
“Please sit wherever you happen to be,” said Fanny, as they reached the dining-room; and then, as they sat down, she bit her lip and colored, finding that it fell to Copeland’s lot to sit opposite her. Eaton, noticing her embarrassment, immediately charged Copeland Farms with responsibility for the high cost of living.
“You must watch Nan carefully, Mrs. Copeland. She’s grinding the face of the poor. I heard Mrs. Harrington complaining bitterly last night about the price she has to pay for such trifling necessities as eggs and butter. You’re going to bring a French Revolution on this country if you’re not careful. And there will be eggs thrown that don’t bear the Copeland Farm’s stamp.”
“I refuse to have this suit spoiled with any other kind,” Jerry protested. “Speaking of eggs—”
“No, you don’t!” Nan interrupted. “You can’t tell any of your country-hotel egg stories here. I refuse to hear them.”