"It is terribly dangerous, with so many people pushing against one. How you can do it so cleverly, I can't think. But indeed, Mr. Mackenzie, I do not believe you _could_ let anything drop," Nora went on, paying him her highest compliment. "This is the fourth Saturday you have given to these teacups; I am afraid it has been tiresome. Raffaello ought to do it all; but Italian servants--" "They are not like yours in England; I can understand that. But Raffaello, now-- Raffaello has seemed to me rather a good fellow," said Mackenzie. At this moment Dorothy, carrying a shawl, appeared at the door; she made her way to the table. "May I have some tea, Miss Sebright, please, for mamma?" "I will carry it for you," said Waddy, eagerly. "Won't you take some tea yourself, Miss Dorothy, before you go back to the garden?" suggested Mackenzie, in his deferential tones. "I? Do you think I take tea? And how can you like it, Mr. Mackenzie? You're not an Englishman." Waddy thanked fate that his mother had entered human existence in New York. Charrington, who was now near the table also, only laughed good-naturedly. On the whole he was of the opinion that Dorothy liked him. Her ideas about tea, or about other English customs, were not important; he could alter them. "I am afraid I must acknowledge that I do like it," Mackenzie had answered. "Do you take it in the morning--for breakfast?" inquired Dorothy, with the air of a judge. Mackenzie confessed that he did. "Then you are lost. Oh, coffee, lovely coffee of home!" Dorothy went on. "Coffee that fills the house at breakfast-time with its delicious fragrance. Not black, as the Italians make it. Not drowned in boiled milk, as the French drink it. As for the English beverage-- But ours, the American--brown, strong, and with real cream! I wish I had a cup of it now--three cups--and six buckwheat cakes with maple syrup!" The contrast between this evoked repast and the girl herself was so comical that the Americans who heard her broke into a laugh. Dorothy was very slight; there was something ethereal in her appearance, although the color in her cheeks, the brilliancy of her hazel eyes, and the bright hue of her chestnut hair indicated a vivid vitality. As a whole, she was charmingly pretty. The Americans who had laughed were but two-- Mackenzie himself and Stephen Lefevre, who had now joined the group. Lefevre wished that his adorable little countrywoman would not say "lovely coffee." But Lefevre was, no doubt, a purist. Felicia Philipps now came to the table with out-stretched hands. "_Poor_ Nora, I have only just observed how tired you are! You must have one of your fearful headaches?" "Oh dear, no," answered Nora, surprised. "I haven't a headache in the least." "Fancy! But you are overtired without knowing it; you must be, or you would not look so pale. I am sure Mr. Mackenzie sees it. Don't you think, Mr. Mackenzie, that Miss Sebright has been here quite long enough? I'm so anxious to relieve her."