He could hardly believe that Jack
was George's brother.
For a moment he forgot Betty. Then he saw her come hurrying in. Her
colour had gone down, and she looked very charming, and yet--yes, a
stranger too.
The table was laid very much as it had been in the old days on a Sunday,
when they always had supper instead of dinner at Old Place. But to-day
was not Sunday--where could all the servants be?
Janet, looking very nice in the bright blue gown her little son had
admired, placed the guest on her right hand. To her left, Timmy,
with snorts and wriggles, settled himself. The others all sorted
themselves out; Betty sat the nearest to the door, on the right of
her father,--lovely Rosamund on his left.
Timmy stood up and mumbled out a Latin grace. How it brought back
Radmore's boyhood and early manhood days! But in those days it was Tom,
a simple cherubic-looking little boy of seven, who said grace--the usual
"For what we are going to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful!"
The stranger--how queer to think he was a stranger here, in this familiar
room--did not care for the innovation.
They all sat down, and Radmore began to eat his soup, served in a covered
cup.
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