“Just about it. Hand me the eggs, Fred.”
“Here they are,” cried Flora, going towards the fire with a basket.
She looked very sweet at that moment, for the active operations in which she had been engaged had flushed her cheeks and brightened her eyes.
George and Fred gazed at her in undisguised admiration. Becoming suddenly aware of the impoliteness of the act, the former ran to relieve her of the basket of eggs; the latter blushed, and all but upset the kettle in an effort to improve the condition of the fire.
“Fred, you goose, leave alone, will you?” roared George, darting forward to prevent the catastrophe.
“This is really charming, is it not, Mr Macgregor?” said Mrs Sudberry, with a languid smile.
“Macdonald, madam, if I may be allowed to correct you,” said Hector, with a smile and a little bow.
“Ah, to be sure!” (with an attempt at a laugh.) “I have such a stupid habit of misnaming people.”
If Mrs Sudberry had told the exact truth she would have said, “I have such difficulty in remembering people’s names that I have made up my mind to call people by any name that comes first into my head rather than confess my forgetfulness.” But she did not say this; she only went on to observe that she had no idea it would have been so charming.
“To what do you refer?” said Hector,—“the scenery, the weather, or the prospect of dinner?”