She marched in, gave one quick, nervous look, and said, with tremendous politeness: "May we have this table by the window? You have such a charming view over the cliffs." "Oh yes, ma'am! We hoped some day you'd take that table. Kind of kept the view for you," said Father, with panting gallantry, fairly falling over himself as he rushed across the floor to pull out their chairs and straighten the table-cloth. Mrs. Carter paid no attention to him whatsoever. She drew a spectacle-case from her small hand-bag and set upon her beetling nose a huge pair of horn-rimmed eye-glasses. She picked up the menu-card as though she were delicately removing a bug--supposing there to be any bug so presumptuous as to crawl upon her smart tan suit. She raised her chin and held the card high. "Uh, tea, lettuce sandwiches, cream-cheese sandwiches, chicken sandwiches, doughnuts, cinnamon toast," she read off to her daughter. So quickly that he started, she turned on Father and demanded, "What sort of tea have you, please?" "Why, uh--just a minute and I'll ask." Father bolted through the door into the large, clean, woodeny, old-fashioned kitchen, where Mother was wearily taking a batch of doughnuts out of the fat-kettle. "Mother!" he exulted. "Mrs. Carter--she's here!" Mother dropped the doughnuts back into the kettle. The splashing fat must have burnt her, but beyond mutely wiping the grease from her hand, she paid no attention to it. She turned paper white. "Oh, Seth!" she groaned. Then, in agony, "After your going and getting them here, I haven't a thing ready for them but lettuce sandwiches and fresh doughnuts." "Never mind. I'll make them take those. Say, what kind of tea have we got now?" "Oh, dear! we haven't got a thing left but just--well, it's just tea, mixed." He galloped back into the tea-room, frightened lest the royal patrons leave before they were served. On the way he resolved to lie--not as the pinching tradesman lies, smugly and unconsciously, but desperately, to save Mother. "We have orange pekoe and oolong," he gasped. "Then you might give us some orange pekoe and--oh, two chicken sandwiches." "Gee! I'm awfully sorry, ma'am, but we're just out of chicken sandwiches. If we'd only known _you_ were coming-- But we have some very nice fresh lettuce sandwiches, and I do wish you would try some of our doughnuts. They're fresh-made, just this minute." He clasped his hands, pressed them till the fingers of one gouged the back of the other. Father was not a Uriah Heep. At Pilkings & Son's he had often "talked back" to some of his best customers. But now he would gladly have licked Mrs. Vance Carter's spatted shoes. "No--oh, bring us some lettuce sandwiches and some orange pekoe. I don't think we care for any doughnuts," said Mrs. Carter, impatiently. Father bolted again, and whispered to Mother, who stood where he had left her, "Lettuce sandwiches and tea, and for Heaven's sake make the tea taste as much like orange pekoe as you can."