hearth. "I'll have some tea now, please. Are there any sandwiches?
I'm starving. Where's your mother, Dorothea?"

"Sick. Got a headache. I'm to pour tea, unless you'd rather." She
got up reluctantly. "Would you?"

"Indeed I wouldn't." Claudia waved her back. "You suit that table
beautifully. When you're a real grown-up lady you won't leave out
anything; but this time you forgot the sugar."

"Did I? I was thinking of something else, I guess." Two lumps were
put in the cup Laine handed her. "Where did you all go this
afternoon?"

Claudia looked at Laine. "I don't know the names of the places
around here. Where did we go?"

"We went--" Laine put his cup on the table and, drawing a chair
closer to the fire, sat down. "I've forgotten the name of the road."

"Forgotten!" Dorothea stopped the rattling of the spoons. "You told
me once you knew all the roads within twenty miles of New York in the
pitch-dark. I think it's very funny you don't know where you've
been. You couldn't have been looking much."

"We didn't look at all. It was too cold--" Laine put another log on
the fire--"the roads were frozen, and to keep the horses from
slipping was all we could attend to."

"Couldn't you talk?"