“All right,” he answered.
Clarinda turned to the maid. “Bring some coffee for Mr. Peter and me. Don’t make it, but bring hot water and just the coffee and some toast.”
The maid curtsied and went out.
“Why that?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I am worried, Peter. I am all upset. I am trying to find out if I shall like this place. I feel as if something had given me a turn.”
Clarinda arose from the divan, and pulled a small table from the center of the room. When the maid came in she told her to go down and get some cups and saucers, then to fix the table as she used to have it.
The maid soon had the things as Clarinda wanted them, and Peter looked on in astonishment.
“Now, Peter, you sit down there at the end, and I shall sit here. Let’s pretend it is morning and you are having your breakfast and you are in a dreadful hurry.”
Peter sat down as he was told and waited for her to finish her preparations.
Clarinda was trying to drag herself back, but for some reason she could not. A new light had broken. Probably this was the rebirth her father had told her of.