In his enthusiasm Mr. Stevenson turned to the Misses Simpson and cried:
"What a crystal voice! Who is she?"
The Misses Simpson regarded him for a moment, then Miss Gertrude replied coldly:
"Her name's Elizabeth Seton, and her father's the Thomsons' minister. It's quite a poor church down in the slums, and they haven't even an organ. Pretty? D'you think so? I think there's awfully little in her face. Her voice is nice, of course, but she's got no taste in the choice of songs."
Stewart Stevenson was saved from replying, for the door opened cautiously and Annie the servant put her head in and nodded meaningly in the direction of her mistress, whereupon Mrs. Thomson heaved herself from her inadequate seat and gave a hand—an unnecessary hand—to the spare Miss Hendry.
"Supper at last!" she said. "I'm sure it's time. It niver was my way to keep people sitting wanting food, but there! What can a body say with a grown-up daughter? Eh! I hope Annie's got the tea and coffee real hot, for everything else is cold."
"Never mind, Mrs. Thomson," said Miss Hendry; "it's that warm we'll not quarrel with cold things."
They were making their way to the door, when Mr. Taylor rushed forward and, seizing Mrs. Thomson's arm, drew it through his own, remarking reproachfully, "Oh, Mrs. Thomson, you were niver goin' in without me? Now, Miss Hendry," turning playfully to that austere lady, "don't you be jealous! You know you're an old sweetheart of mine, but I must keep in with Mrs. Thomson to-night—tea and penny-things, eh?" and he nudged Miss Hendry, who only sniffed and said, "You've great spirits for your age, Mr. Taylor, I'm sure."
Mr. Taylor, who was still hugging Mrs. Thomson's arm, to her great embarrassment, pretended indignation.
"Ma age, indeed!" he said. "I'm not a day older in spirit than when I was courtin'. Ask Mrs. Taylor, ask her"; and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at his wife, who came mincing on Mr. Thomson's arm, then pranced into the dining-room with his hostess.