"Oh, Aunt Miriam, I'd be ashamed to, to-day, when she's bought so much. She'll be coming up again before long—she said so. And father's asked her to luncheon."
"Just like him," commented Miriam, with a sigh. "He always suffered from hospitality. I'll have to go to the store."
The Best We Have
"No, you won't, Aunty—she's not that sort. We'll give her the best we have, with a welcome thrown in."
If Eloise thought it strange for one end of the table to be set with solid silver, heavy damask, and fine china, while the other end, where she and the two women of the house sat, was painfully different, she gave no sign of it in look or speech. The humble fare might have been the finest banquet so far as she was concerned. She fitted herself to their ways without apparent effort; there was no awkwardness nor feeling of strangeness. She might have been a life-long friend of the family, instead of a passing acquaintance who had come to buy lingerie.
Friendly Conversation
As she ate, she talked. It was not aimless chatter, but the rare gift of conversation. She drew them all out and made them talk, too. Even Miriam relaxed and said something more than "yes" and "no."
"What delicious preserves," said Eloise. "May I have some more, please? Where do you get them?"
"I make them," answered Miriam, the dull red rising in her cheeks. She had not been entirely disinterested when she climbed up on a chair and took down some of her choicest fruit from the highest shelf of the store-room.
"Do you—" A look from Barbara stopped the unlucky speech. "Do you find it difficult?" asked Eloise, instantly mistress of the situation. "I should so love to make some for myself."