“Now one thing we could do to extend your acquaintance would be to have nice teas on Sundays,” Nannie resumed. “Then you could have friends in, and in time keep sort of open house Sunday evenings.”
“We can’t afford extra things, Mamma. Our means won’t allow it.”
“But, Lucy, it wouldn’t cost hardly anything. You are so clever about making things. Why your biscuits and fricasseed chicken the other day were the best things I ever tasted. Let’s try it next Sunday.”
“But whom shall we invite, Mamma?”
“Let’s invite your friend, Mr. Sprague,” suggested Nannie smiling.
“He’s not my friend any more than he is John’s, and not as much,” said Lucy coldly.
“Why, Lucy, who said he was! I meant yours and John’s both. I only wanted to please you. I declare, we can’t mention Mr. Sprague’s name without your getting offended.”
Lucy changed the subject and did not refer to it again, but Nannie brought up her suggestion when John came home, and he seconded the plan heartily.
“Yes. Let’s have Jim out Sunday!” he cried. “He’s moping around these days like he’d lost his grandmother. It’ll do him good.”
“All right,” suddenly agreed Lucy. “We will.”
Nannie seemed surprised at her ready acquiescence.
XV
Jim appeared punctually at the appointed hour on Sunday evening. It had been a brilliant spring day. The late sunshine was now mellowed by shadows that fell thick on the front of the Winter house and made it look cool and inviting. As he came up the walk he saw Mrs. Merwent on the front porch.
She wore an elaborate white lingerie dress with a wide lavender sash. She had just cut some lilacs from the bush under the dining room window and as she mounted the steps she held them out for him to admire.
“I won’t offer you any more flowers, Mr. Sprague,” she began, referring to the incident of the boutonniere on the occasion of his first visit.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Merwent. They are certainly pretty,” Jim answered without returning her smile.
“They would go well with your grey suit too,” she persisted teasingly.
Jim was very careful of his attire but shy of personalities of any nature. He ignored Mrs. Merwent’s remark and turned to John who had just emerged from the house.
“Hello, John,” he called. “Where’s Lucy?”
“In the kitchen as usual.” John laughed. “She seems to have adopted cooking as her life work lately. It’s a good thing I have Nannie to console me.”
Jim scrutinized John but did not speak. The three made their way to the living room.
“Hello, Uncle Jim! The cookies are made in stars!” Dimmie cried, rushing up to Jim and embracing his knees.
“Everything seems to be in gala array,” Jim observed, looking around the room and noticing a bowl of violets and narcissi, and two or three bunches of lilacs on the piano and mantel shelf.
“Nannie is a real artist at arranging flowers, Jim,” John declared admiringly.
Mrs. Merwent smiled.
“With John’s pictures the house hardly needs any other decoration,” she began. “I think they’re—”
“Come and see Mamma, Uncle Jim,” Dimmie begged, tugging at Jim’s trouser leg.
“Did she tell you to call him, Jimmie?” Nannie inquired quickly.
“Come on, Uncle Jim,” Dimmie begged, not heeding his grandmother.
“Answer Nannie, Dimmie,” commanded John sternly.
“She won’t say my name,” protested Dimmie.
“Do what I tell you. Answer Nannie.”
“Now, John, I’m sure Jimmie doesn’t mean to be rude.”
“Well, he’s got to learn not to be.”
“I want to go back to Mamma,” wailed Dimmie.
“Come along, kid,” Jim said, as though he were oblivious to the discussion between John and Nannie. He lifted the child to his shoulder and the two left the room.
“Of course he has to go to Lucy as soon as he gets here. There are few men as big souled as you, John, who wouldn’t resent such devotion to their wives.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Nannie.” John looked at Mrs. Merwent in a worried, perplexed way.
“Of course you don’t, you greathearted fellow! Suppose we go out on the veranda until tea is ready.”
Not long after Lucy sent Dimmie to call them in.
Nannie and John praised the hot biscuit and fricasseed chicken. When tea was over they returned to the living room leaving Jim and Lucy still at the table.
“I’m going to sing the new song John brought me,” Nannie explained as she went out.
“Let’s go too so we can hear better,” said Lucy to Jim.
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were unusually bright. She and Jim seated themselves near the piano, Dimmie perched on Jim’s knee, while John stood by Nannie and turned the music for her.
“I think it’s pretty. Don’t you, Jim?” Lucy commented when the last notes died away.
“Very,” agreed Jim.
“ ‘Pretty’ isn’t the word,” put in John. “It’s a beautiful little gem. And how well Nannie sings it! Don’t you think her expression is perfect?”
“You’ll make me blush if you don’t stop, John,” protested Nannie with her silveriest laugh.
“Well, I want you to be appreciated,” insisted John warmly.
“Don’t you think we appreciate Mamma’s singing?” asked Lucy.
“You don’t either of you seem much moved by it,” answered John.
“Now, John,” interrupted Nannie soothingly, smiling up at him.
“Sing that other one, the one I got last week,” urged John. “Here it is,” and he laid a piece of music open on the rack.
“Now wait a minute! Let me rest,” Nannie objected.
There was a pause.
“Let’s not sing any more now. You forget that perhaps everybody isn’t as fond of music as you are, John,” she began after an awkward moment.
“Do sing it, please,” pleaded Lucy. “Jim and I both love music, and Jim hasn’t heard it.”
“No, I’m not in very good voice tonight. It’s a mistake to sing when you’re not feeling like it. You lose your reputation.”
“Please,” Lucy begged again.
“I should like very much to hear it,” Jim joined in.
“Thank you, but you’ll have to excuse me this time,” said Nannie.
Again silence descended on the little group.
“Singing makes me thirsty,” announced Nannie at length, rising and moving toward the dining room.
“Let me get you a drink,” offered John,
