“I amuse myself with nutcakes, me,” said Hobart Eddy as I entered the drawing-room, “and where, pray, is the Canary Lady?”
“She is a very fragile Canary Lady,” I answered sadly; “she is lame, you know, Hobart.”
“And has she no tea?” he demanded.
“She was too tired to join us,” I explained; “Pelleas will take her cup to her when Nichola brings the hot water.”
“Let me take it to her,” Hobart suggested when Nichola came in with the hot-water pot. “I won’t stay,” he promised as I hesitated, “and do let me be useful. I can’t look out for the emotions of the ashman and the next poor dog, but I want to help. Helping is why,” he smiled at Nichola.
“You must forgive Nichola and me our trespasses,” Pelleas murmured uneasily.
“Forgive them? I’m going to practice them,” Hobart said, rising; “I’m going to take tea and a nutcake to the Canary Lady in the library and cheer her up, carpenter to goldsmith.”
“Well, then,” said I, since “Do quite as you like” is the proper motto for every hostess, “do so. But mind that you do not stay at all.”
Nichola brought the little silver card tray from the hall, and about the plate of cakes and the fragrant cup I laid a spray or two of holly.
“Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly: