“If one can only do a few things, naturally, all one’s vanity is centered in them,” she was observing to him now, by way of explaining her fondness for tea making. “I fancy I regard my talent as a mother regards her only child. If she has a number of children, she’s uncertain, of course, whether Ann’s blue eyes are the most beautiful in the world or Jimmie’s brown ones, and she can’t decide whether to thrust Susie upon the attention of visitors, that they may admire her golden curls, or whether to give raven-locked Lucy the center of the stage. With one child or one accomplishment it’s different; you simply have to concentrate your admiration on that. You won’t take two lumps?”
Ormsby shook his head firmly, and Jane handed him his tea. “It’s just tea with one lump; it’s nectar with two,” she observed, regretfully. “Speaking of children,” she continued, as she poured herself out a cup, “have you seen the new Larson baby?”
“I’m sorry to say I have not,” said Ormsby, gravely.
“It’s a dear,” observed Jane, enthusiastically. “I think it will be the beauty of the Larson family.”
“If the Larson family occupy that cottage near the grove, and if all the children who play about there are Larson children, I fancy the baby wouldn’t require much in the way of looks to be the beauty of the Larson family,” he commented, dryly.
“What a nasty remark!” exclaimed Jane, indignantly. “They all have their good points when you come to study them. And you can’t imagine how amusing they are. I’ve been helping them along a bit lately, and between their extravagant gratitude and the Willoughbys’ indignation at the size of the bills, I’ve been having no end of a good time.” Jane leaned back and smiled. Ormsby frowned. A good time! That apparently was the aim and end of her existence. Aloud he said:
“Are you never serious, Mrs. De Mille?”
“Not very often; what’s the use?” responded Jane, promptly.
“I should imagine that a woman who has had the”—he hesitated for an instant—“the sad experience you have had would show the effect of it.” Ormsby was really ashamed of this remark, but Jane’s flippancy frequently goaded him on to say things he regretted. But she did not look offended.
“Sad experience?” she repeated, puzzled. “Oh, you mean the Willoughbys?”