“That reminds me,” said Miss Boothby; “since we’re all friends here, aren’t you going to offer us dinner from your silver plate?”
“Really, Penelope,” expostulated Cotterell, “you repeat yourself. That’s the second time this afternoon you’ve mentioned the same idea.”
“It seems only hospitable,” pouted Miss Boothby.
Cotterell looked at the floor. “Well, you see,” he began. “You see——”
The lady interrupted. “I believe you’ve forgotten where you put it!”
There was an awkward pause. Cotterell flushed, bit his lip.
“Well, if he has,” piped up Ben, “he’s only mislaid it. I think I can show him where it is.”
Everyone turned to look at the fellow who spoke with such confidence. John Tuckerman stared, and so did Tom, while David gave a low whistle and muttered, “It’s just like Benjie to do something ridiculous.”
Cotterell smiled. “I am a great hand at mislaying things—it’s my besetting sin. Now I would be very much obliged if you would show me where I did put that silverware.”
“How funny,” said Miss Boothby, “that a total stranger should know. I understand that he came here for the first time this afternoon.”