The Definite Object Part 28

"No, Spike, no! I was only thinking that tea never tastes quite right unless poured out by a woman's hand--and the fairer the hand the better the tea!"

"Which means--just what, Mr. Geoffrey?" laughed Hermione.

"Why, that Spike and I are about to drink the most delicious tea in the world, of course."

"I'd rather be eatin' that turk' when you've sawed me off a leg," sighed Spike. "I say--when you have!"

"Ah, to be sure!" said Ravenslee, turning his attention to his carving again, while Hermione bowed her golden head above the teacups.

"Gee, but she cuts tender!" quoth Spike; "that bird sure has the Indian sign on me!"

"Sugar, Mr. Geoffrey?"

"Two lumps, please."

"Milk, Mr. Geoffrey?"

"Thank you!"

"Geoff," said Spike wearily, "I cracked that milk jug last night, but you don't have to sit starin' at it that way, an' me dyin' of hunger by inches!"

"My humble apologies!" said Ravenslee, wresting his gaze from a certain curl and fixing it upon the turkey again. "I'm a little--er--distracted to-night, it seems."

"Oh, Gee!" said Spike in a hopeless tone, "now Hermy's gone an' filled my cup with milk."

"Why, boy dear, so I have!" she confessed, with a rueful laugh, and her cheeks were very pink as she rectified her mistake.

"Are you distracted too, then?" demanded Spike.

"No, I--I don't think so--no, no--of course I'm not! I--I was just--thinking, that's all!"

"Not about tea, I reckon! Say, what's gettin' you two, anyway?"

"Arthur," said she serenely, as she pa.s.sed his tea, "please fetch some more hot water."

Spike sighed, rose, and taking the jug, went upon his mission.

"And how do you like Mulligan's, Mr. Geoffrey?" enquired Hermione, regarding him with her calm, level eyes.

"Very much," he answered, "I like it better and better. I think--no, I'm sure I would rather be in Mulligan's than anywhere else in the world."

"Oh! Why?"

Down went carving knife and fork, and leaning toward her he answered: "Because in Mulligan's, among many other wonders, I have found something more beautiful and far more wonderful than I ever dreamed of finding."

"In Mulligan's?" she asked, looking her amazement.

"In Mulligan's," he answered gravely. Now here, all at once, her glance wavered and sank before his.

"What do you mean?" she enquired, staring into her cup.

"Shall I tell you?"

"Yes--no!" she murmured hastily and a little breathlessly, as Spike reentered, and paused, jug in hand, to stare.

"What--haven't you served Hermy--yet?" he enquired in an injured tone.

"Certainly I have," answered Ravenslee, "here it is, you see--all ready!"

"Only you forgot t' hand it t' her, and she forgot t' take it. Well, say--for hungry folks you two are the limit!"

"'Man doth not live by bread alone,' boy; we were talking," said Ravenslee, handing Hermione her plate.

"You said you liked milk and sugar, didn't you, Mr. Geoffrey?"

"Holy Gee!" murmured Spike.

"Milk and sugar, thank you," said Ravenslee, heedful of her deepened colour.

"Geoff," enquired Spike gently, "if I was to hang on to that drumstick, d' ye suppose you might be able to hack it off for me--some day?"

"My Arthur," said Ravenslee, plying knife and fork energetically, "'tis done--behold it!"

"But surely," said Hermione, glancing up suddenly, "surely you don't--like Mulligan's, Mr. Geoffrey?"

"Like it, Miss Hermione? I--abominate it!"

"Oh!"

"Say, Geoff," mourned Spike, "don't I get any stuffin' after all?"

"Mr. Geoffrey, I've been wondering how you and Arthur met--and where, and--"

"Gee, Hermy!" Spike exclaimed, "you sure do talk! If you go on asking poor old Geoff s' many questions, he'll forget t' serve himself this week. Look at his plate!"

"Why, Mr. Geoffrey, do serve yourself, please, and--oh, my gracious!

I've forgotten to give you your tea; I'm so sorry!"

Here Spike, having once again staved off the inevitable explanation, grew hilarious, and they laughed and talked the while they ate and drank with youthful, healthy appet.i.tes. And what a supper that was! What tongue could tell the gaiety and utter content that possessed them all three? What pen describe all Hermione's glowing beauty, or how her blue eyes, meeting eyes of grey would, for no perceptible reason, grow sweetly troubled, waver in their glance, and veil themselves beneath sudden, down-drooping lashes? What mere words could ever describe all the subtle, elusive witchery of her?

And Spike--ate, of course, in a blissful silence for the most part and whole-heartedly, his attention centred exclusively upon his plate; thus how should he know or care how often, across that diminished turkey, grey eyes looked into blue? As for Ravenslee, he ate and drank he knew and cared not what, content to sit and watch her when he might--the delicious curves of white neck and full, round throat, the easy grace of movement that spoke her vigorous youth; joying in the soft murmurs of her voice, the low, sweet ring of her laughter, and thrilling responsive to her warm young womanhood.

"But Mr. Geoffrey," she enquired suddenly, "if you hate Mulligan's as much as I do, whatever made you choose to live here?"

"A thrice blessed fate," he answered, "I came because--er--"

"You were a poor, lonely guy," added Spike hastily.