Poor Mrs. Caldwell was exhausted, and would have been the better for a good glass of port; but she meekly held her peace.
Then Uncle James cut the cake, and gave each of the children a very small slice. Beth held hers suspended half-way to her mouth, and gazed at her uncle.
"What is that child staring at?" he asked her mother at last.
"I think she is admiring you," was Mrs. Caldwell's happy rejoinder.
"No, mamma, I am not," Beth contradicted. "I was just thinking I had never seen anything so big in my life."
"Anything!" Uncle James protested. "What does she mean, Caroline?"
"I don't mean this slice of cake," Beth chuckled.
"Come, dear—come, dear," Aunt Grace Mary hurriedly interposed. "Come upstairs, and see—and see—the pretty room you're to have. Come and take your things off, like a good child."
Beth rose obediently, but before she followed her aunt out of the room she said: "Here, Bernadine; you'd better have my slice. You'll howl if you don't get enough. Cakes are scarce and dear here, I suppose."
Aunt Victoria had tatted diligently during this little scene. Now she looked up over her spectacles and inspected Uncle James.