He started off proudly, with a soup tureen and two platters on the seat beside him. The red table-cloth was slung over his arm, in toreador fashion, and the normal creak of the conveyance was accentuated by an ominous rattle of crockery. Then he circled back, motioning them to wait.
“Here's sunthin' I most forgot,” he said, giving Ruth a note. “I'd drive you back fer nothin', only I've got sech a load.”
The note was from Miss Ainslie, inviting Miss Thorne and her friend to come at five o'clock and stay to tea. No answer was expected unless she could not come.
The quaint, old-fashioned script was in some way familiar. A flash of memory took Ruth back to the note she had found in the dresser drawer, beginning: “I thank you from my heart for understanding me.” So it was Miss Ainslie who had sent the mysterious message to Aunt Jane.
“You're not paying any attention to me,” complained Winfield. “I suppose, when we're married, I'll have to write out what I want to say to you, and put it on file.”
“You're a goose,” laughed Ruth. “We're going to Miss Ainslie's to-night for tea. Aren't we getting gay?”
“Indeed we are! Weddings and teas follow one another like Regret on the heels of Pleasure.”
“Pretty simile,” commented Ruth. “If we go to the tea, we'll have to miss the wedding.”
“Well, we've been to a wedding quite recently, so I suppose it's better to go to the tea. Perhaps, by arranging it, we might be given nourishment at both places—not that I pine for the 'Widder's' cooking. Anyhow, we've sent our gift, and they'd rather have that than to have us, if they were permitted to choose.”
“Do you suppose they'll give us anything?”