"If you don't like it—" she began stammering.
We immediately explained that Blanch was simply astonished at an apology being offered with venison, whereat Sally grew radiant.
Mr. Smith did not appear at the table. He insisted that he had been to supper, but abstained from mentioning the day on which he last partook of that meal. Indeed, during all the time Blanch and I were in that house we never saw the master of it eat one mouthful.
"He never will sit down with folks," Sally whispered privately to me as we left the table.
When Sally said "he," pure and simple, she always meant her husband. She had a dim consciousness that there were other, nebulous masculines in the world; but to her mind Mr. Thomas Smith was the bright particular HE.
At eight o'clock we went to bed by the pure, pale twilight of June, and sank up to our eyes in feathers.
"Oh!" cried Blanch, "I'm going through to China!"
"Never mind!" I said encouragingly, "to-morrow we will put this absurd puff-ball underneath, and promote the straw-bed."
"Straw!" exclaimed a voice from the depths.