"It seems very wonderful, Madam Gray," said he, "to have a lady in the
house on Christmas morning. Will you do me the honour to take this
seat?" He put her in a chair before a massive silver urn, under which
burned a spirit lamp. "And will you pour our coffee? It's many a year
since we've had coffee served from the table, poured by a woman's hand."
"Why, I should be greatly pleased to pour the coffee," cried Aunt Ruth
happily. Her bright glance was fastened upon a mass of scarlet flowers
in the centre of the table, for which Richard had sent between dark and
daylight. He smiled across the table at her.
"Are they real?" she breathed.
"Absolutely! Splendid colour, aren't they? I can't remember the name,
but they look like Christmas."
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Rufus Gray had ever in their lives eaten such a
breakfast as was now served to them. Such extraordinary fruits, such
perfectly cooked game, such delicious food of various sorts--they could
only taste and wonder. Richard, with a young man's healthy appetite,
kept them company, but his grandfather made a frugal meal of toast,
coffee, and a single egg, quite as if he were more accustomed to such
simple fare than to any other.
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