Fleming made a brave pretense, but left her
plate almost untouched. As for me, I ate a substantial masculine meal
and half apologized for my appetite, but Letitia did not hear. She tore
the board of managers to shreds with the roast, and denounced them with
the salad. But Jane was all anxious hospitality.

"Please _do_ eat your dinner," she whispered. "I made the salad myself.
And I know what it takes to keep a big man going. Harry eats more than
Letitia and I together. Doesn't he, Margery?"

"Harry?" I asked.

"Mrs. Stevens is an unmitigated fool. I said if they elected her
president I'd not leave a penny to the home. That's why I sent for you,
Knox." And to the maid, "Tell Heppie to wash those cups in luke-warm
water. They're the best ones. And not to drink her coffee out of them.
She let her teeth slip and bit a piece out of one the last time."

Miss Jane leaned forward to me after a smiling glance at her niece
across.

"Harry Wardrop, a cousin's son, and--" she patted Margery's hand with
its ring--"soon to be something closer."

The girl's face colored, but she returned Miss Jane's gentle pressure.

"They put up an iron fence," Miss Letitia reverted somberly to her
grievance, "when a wooden one would have done. It was extravagance,
ruinous extravagance."

"Harry stays with us when he is in Manchester," Miss Jane went on,
nodding brightly across at Letitia as if she, too, were damning the
executive board. "Lately, he has been almost all the time in Plattsburg.
He is secretary to Margery's father. It is a position of considerable
responsibility, and we are very proud of him."

I had expected something of the sort, but the remainder of the meal had
somehow lost its savor. There was a lull in the conversation while
dessert was being brought in. Miss Jane sat quivering, watching her
sister's face for signs of trouble; the latter had subsided into
muttered grumbling, and Miss Fleming sat, one hand on the table, staring
absently at her engagement ring.

"You look like a fool in that cap, Jane," volunteered Letitia, while the
plates were being brought in. "What's for dessert?"

"Ice-cream," called Miss Jane, over the table.

"Well, you needn't," snapped Letitia, "I can hear you well enough. You
told me it was junket."

"I said ice-cream, and you said it would be all right," poor Jane
shrieked. "If you drink a cup of hot water after it, it won't hurt you."

"Fiddle," Letitia snapped unpleasantly. "I'm not g