Tempie's adoption of Caroline Darrah had been as complete and as
enthusiastic as the rest of them and she had proceeded forthwith to put
her through a course of domestic instruction that delighted the hearts of
them both. She never failed to bemoan the fate that had left the child
ignorant of matters of such importance and she was stern in her endeavor
to correct the pernicious neglect. She had to admit, however, that
Caroline was an extraordinarily apt pupil and she laid it all to what she
called "the Darrah strain of cooking blood," though she was as proud as
possible over each triumph. Nothing pleased them both more than to have
Mrs. Buchanan occasionally leave culinary arrangements to their
co-administration.
An hour later a gay party was gathered around the table in the
drawing-room. The major sat near at hand enjoying it hugely, and his
comments were dropped like philosophical crystals into the swell of the
conversation.
Mrs. Cherry Lawrence had come in with Mrs. Matilda in all the bravery of
a most striking, becoming and expensive second mourning costume, and she
was keenly alive to every situation that might be made to compass even
the smallest amount of gaiety. Her lavender embroideries were the only
reminders of the existence of the departed Cherry, and their lavishness
was a direct defiance of his years of effort in the curtailing of the
tastes of his expensive wife.
Tom Cantrell's lean dark face of Indian cast lit up like a transparency
when she arrived and he left Polly Farrell's side so quickly that Polly
almost dropped the lemon fork with which she was maneuvering, in her
surprise at his sudden desertion. In a moment he had divested the widow
of a long cloth and sable coat that would have made Cherry sit up and
groan if he had even had a grave-dream about it. She bestowed a smile on
Polly, a still more impressive one on the major and sank into a chair
near Phoebe.
"Why, where is David Kildare?" she asked interestedly. "I thought he
would be here before me. He promised to come. Phoebe, you are sweet in
that dark gray. Has anybody anything interesting to tell?"
"I have," answered Polly as she passed Phoebe a cup and a mischievous
smile, for Mrs. Cherry's appointment with David tickled Polly's risibles
to an alarming extent. "There's the most heavenly man down here from
Boston to see Caroline Darrah Brown and she _neglects_ him. I'm so sorry
for him that I don't know what will happen. I'm--"
"Why, where is he?" interrupted Mrs. Cherry with the utmost cordiality.
They all laughed as Polly parted her charming lips and passed the
questioner the lemon slices with impressive obviousness.
"He's gone to the station to see about his horses that he has had shipped
down. We're going to hunt some more, no matter how cold; all of us,
Caroline and David and the rest."