CHAPTER IX
WILLIAM AND WHITE SATIN
“I’d simply love to have a page,” murmured Miss Grant wistfully. “A wedding seems so—second-rate without a page.”
Mrs. Brown, her aunt and hostess, looked across the tea-table at her younger son, who was devouring iced cake with that disregard for consequences which is the mark of youth.
“There’s William,” she said doubtfully. Then, “You’ve had quite enough cake, William.”
Miss Grant studied William’s countenance, which at that moment expressed intense virtue persecuted beyond all bearing.
“Enough!” he repeated. “I’ve had hardly any yet. I was only jus’ beginning to have some when you looked at me. It’s a plain cake. It won’t do me any harm. I wu’nt eat it if it’d do me any harm. Sugar’s good for you. Animals eat it to keep healthy. Horses eat it an’ it don’t do ’em any harm, an’ poll parrots an’ things eat it an’ it don’t do ’em any——”
“Oh, don’t argue, William,” said his mother wearily.
William’s gift of eloquence was known and feared in his family circle.