When they all gathered about the tea-table, his critical eye noted
many little points that a less refined man would not have thought of.
The fine white table-linen, delicate old-fashioned china, a piece or
two of highly polished silver, and the table not vulgarly loaded with
too great variety, yet everything delicious and abundant. Mr. and
Mrs. Winters, too, though unpretending, were persons of refinement
and intelligence. He was puzzled to understand how a young girl,
reared in so much seclusion, should possess such grace and culture as
did Edna. After tea, when she played and sang, his mystification
increased, for the bird-like voice and delicate touch were superior
to much that he heard among his city friends. It came out in the
course of conversation, however, that Edna had spent the last six
years in one of the finest schools in Boston--an inmate of her aunt's
family; and now she had come back to them to gladden the eyes of
those two, who almost set her up as an idol; come back, not spoiled,
taking up her daily little homely duties again with real zest.

Mr. Monteith found Mr. Winters most congenial company. He had read
extensively, and was keen in argument, throwing in a bit of poetry or
a witty story, as the case required. Edna brought her crotcheting and
made herself into a picture in one corner of the fireplace, her
changing, speaking face and piquant remarks lending interest to the
dullest subject.

"It is my opinion, Mr. Monteith," said Mr. Winters, as a fierce blast
dashed sheets of snow against the windows, "that, in all probability,
you will be obliged to spend your Christmas with us. If this storm
continues at this rate you will be a prisoner."