Lulu flushed and was silent. She was an olive woman, once handsome, now
with flat, bluish shadows under her wistful eyes. And if only she would
look at her brother Herbert and say something. But she looked in her
plate.

"I want some honey," shouted the child, Monona.

"There isn't any, Pet," said Lulu.

"I want some," said Monona, eyeing her stonily. But she found that her
hair-ribbon could be pulled forward to meet her lips, and she embarked
on the biting of an end. Lulu departed for some sauce and cake. It was
apple sauce. Mr. Deacon remarked that the apples were almost as good as
if he had stolen them. He was giving the impression that he was an
irrepressible fellow. He was eating very slowly. It added pleasantly to
his sense of importance to feel that some one, there in the parlour, was
waiting his motion.

At length they rose. Monona flung herself upon her father. He put her
aside firmly, every inch the father. No, no. Father was occupied now.
Mrs. Deacon coaxed her away. Monona encircled her mother's waist, lifted
her own feet from the floor and hung upon her. "She's such an active
child," Lulu ventured brightly.

"Not unduly active, I think," her brother-in-law observed.

He turned upon Lulu his bright smile, lifted his eyebrows, dropped his
lids, stood for a moment contemplating the yellow tulip, and so left the
room.