“Well, niece!” said Aunt Betty, with a rather anxious look, “I hope you’ll be on your good behavior to-day, for I value every piece above gold.”
“I know you do,” said Ruth anxiously, “and that’s what scares me.”
While they were talking, Sam had served each one with a plate on which lay a small slice of fish, browned to perfection and temptingly hot. Each girl took a small taste, and then began picking at the food daintily with her fork, but not eating. Grace raised her napkin to her lips, and surreptitiously removed from her mouth the morsel she had taken. Jenny heroically swallowed, and then hastily drank from her glass, while Ruth quietly took the morsel from her mouth, deposited it on her plate, and took no more.
Aunt Betty apparently did not observe all this, but in a moment, seeing that they were toying with the food on their plates, asked quietly, “What’s the matter? Why do you not eat?”
“I don’t care much for fish,” said Grace, in her most polite manner, and, “I beg your pardon, aunt,” said Jenny, in apparent confusion, “but I must confess to having had some candy this morning, and I’m afraid I haven’t much appetite; the fish is fine, I’m sure.”
“And you, Ruth?” asked her aunt.
Ruth hesitated.
“I want the truth, niece,” Aunt Betty went on; “you know I always want the honest truth.”
“Indeed, Aunt Betty,” began Grace, “I’m sure”—She paused, and Jenny broke in, “I’m awfully sorry, Aunt Betty”—But Ruth, while a deep blush rose to her honest face, said in a low tone, “Auntie—I’m sorry to have to tell you—but I think the fish had been kept a little too long.”
Jenny and Grace looked at her in amazement, expecting some burst of indignation from Aunt Betty.