CHAPTER VI.

MISS BETSEY McPHERSON


The table was laid in the large dining-room, which faced the south, and
whose long French windows looked into the terraced flower-garden and
upon the evergreens fashioned after those in the park at Versailles.
When alone, Lucy took all her meals in the pleasant little breakfast
room, where only two pictures hung upon the wall, and both of Robin--one
taken in all his infantile beauty, when he was two years old, and the
other at the age of fourteen, after the lovely blue eyes which smiled so
brightly upon you from the first canvas were darkened forever, and the
eyelids were closed over them. This was Lucy's favorite room, for there
Robin seemed nearer to her. But Geraldine did not like it. It was like
attending a funeral all the time, she said; and so, though it was quite
large enough to accommodate her Thanksgiving guests, Lucy had ordered
the dinner to be served in the larger room, which looked very warm and
cheerful with the crimson hangings at the windows and the bright fire on
the hearth.

After having regaled herself with a glass of sherry, a biscuit, a piece
of sponge cake, and some fruit, Mrs. Geraldine had descended to the
dining-room to see a new rug, of which Lucy told her. Glancing at the
table, which was glittering with china, and glass, and silver, she began
counting:

"One, two, three, four, five, six places. You surely did not expect
Burton's father?"