"When was Mr. Digby—Mr. Southwode here, aunt Serena?" Rotha began again.
"A few nights ago. I do not recollect. Mr. Busby, as you go down town will you stop at Dubois's and order the piano tuner? The piano is quite out of tune. And I wish you would order me a bag of coffee, if you say you can get it more reasonably at your down town place."
"Very well, my dear." The words used to amuse Rotha, they rolled out so, brisk and sharp, like the discharge from a gun. To-day she was impatient.
"Aunt Serena, I have been wanting to see Mr. Southwode very much."
No answer. Mrs. Busby attended to her breakfast as if she did not hear.
"When can I?" Rotha persisted.
"I am sure, I cannot say. Mr. Busby, I will trouble you for a little of that sausage."
"This sausage has too much pepper in it, mamma."
"And too little of something else," added Mr. Busby.
"Of what, Mr. Busby?"