as a
locomotive stops for wood and water when it cannot go on any longer
without such replenishment; but it was a matter of business and
necessity to do so rather than of pleasure.

Candace, who had sat down opposite Aunt Myra every day as long as she
could remember at the small pine table in the yellow-painted kitchen,
with always the same thick iron-stone ware plates and cups, the same
little black tray to hold the tea-things, the same good, substantial,
prosaic fare, served without the least attempt at grace or decoration,
had never dreamed of such a dinner as was usual at the Grays'. She said
not a word to express her astonishment; but she glanced at the thick
cluster of maiden-hair ferns which quivered in the middle of the table
from an oval stand of repousse brass, at the slender glasses of
tea-roses which stood on either side, at the Sevres dishes of fruit,
sweet biscuits, and dried ginger, and wondered if this were to be all
the dinner. Did fashionable people never eat anything more substantial
than grapes and crackers? She felt very hungry, and yet it seemed coarse
not to be satisfied when everything was so pretty.

"Consomme, Mademoiselle?" murmured Frederic in her ear, as he placed
before her a plate full of some clear liquid which smelt deliciously,
and offered a small dish of grated cheese for her acceptance.

"Oh, thank you, sir," said Candace, wondering confusedly if cheese in
soup was the correct thing.

Mrs. Gray's quick ear caught the "sir." She did not even turn her head,
but she mentally added another to the hints which must be administered
to Candace as soon as she was sufficiently at home to bear them.

Spanish mackerel was the next course. Candace inadvertently took up the
steel knife placed beside her plate, instead of the silver one meant for
use with fish. The result was that when the saddle of mutton was served,
she had no usable knife. Mr. Gray observed her difficulty, and directed
Frederic to bring a steel knife for Mademoiselle, which Frederic did,
first casting a scrutinizing glance about as if in search of something;
and again Candace felt that she was somehow out of the way.

The climax of her discomfort came with the pretty tinted fruit plates
and finger-bowls. Candace's tumbler was empty, and without particularly
thinking about the matter she took a drink out of her finger-bowl,
which she mistook for some sort of lemonade, from the bit of lemon which
floated in the water.

The