The dinner was good, as Mrs. Vervain’s dinners always were, and there was a compliment to the painter in the presence of a favorite dish. When he saw this, “Well, Mrs. Vervain, what is it?” he asked. “You needn’t pretend that you’re treating me so well for nothing. You want something.”
“We want nothing but that you should not neglect your friends. We have been utterly deserted for three or four days. Don Ippolito has not been here, either; but he has some excuse; he has to get ready for Corpus Christi. He’s going to be in the procession.”
“Is he to appear with his flying machine, or his portable dining-table, or his automatic camera?”
“For shame!” cried Mrs. Vervain, beaming reproach. Florida’s face clouded, and Ferris made haste to say that he did not know these inventions were sacred, and that he had no wish to blaspheme them.
“You know well enough what I meant,” answered Mrs. Vervain. “And now, we want you to get us a window to look out on the procession.”
“Oh, that’s what you want, is it? I thought you merely wanted me not to neglect my friends.”
“Well, do you call that neglecting them?”
“Mrs. Vervain, Mrs. Vervain! What a mind you have! Is there anything else you want? Me to go with you, for example?”
“We don’t insist. You can take us to the window and leave us, if you like.”
“This clemency is indeed unexpected,” replied Ferris. “I’m really quite unworthy of it.”