Seated at the dinner table, the publisher was very large, very ruddy, very imposing.  He had a trick of imbibing his food solemnly, with a judicial air which sent apprehensive chills coursing down Cicely’s spine, as she watched him pursing up his lips over the salad and nibbling daintily at the macaroni.  The dinner was good, as far as it went.  Of so much she was certain, for Susan was an expert in plain cookery, and, in her own cooking class, Cicely had shown herself past master in the art of entrees.  It only remained to be seen whether or not she could succeed in getting the supplies to and from the table without losing off her cap or dropping too many of the forks.  Just outside the door, Allyn was toiling handily in her behalf; and, strange to say, she was free from the obstacle she had most feared, that Melchisedek would get under her feet at some critical moment, and project her headlong, roast and all, upon the smooth bald pate of Mr. Gilwyn.  To her relief, the dog had mysteriously vanished.  She was too glad to be rid of him to care whence or wherefore he had gone.

Little by little, she entered into the spirit of her part.  At first, she had been a little frightened at what she had undertaken.  She feared a break, either of ceremony or china.  Then, as she had time to watch the guest and accustom herself to his ways and his appetite, she devoted her energy to plying him with goodies, bending beside him with grave and deferential mien, then straightening up again to pass through a dumb show of mirth above his august head.  Theodora was talking away valiantly, sternly resolved to do what credit she could to the family; but Billy, at the foot of the table, was sorely taxed to keep up his dignity.

Suddenly Theodora turned to the maid.

“Cicely dear,” she said; “I wish you would give me another spoon.”

Above Mr. Gilwyn’s head, Cicely shook her fist at Theodora.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said respectfully.

Mr. Gilwyn looked surprised.  He had known eccentric authors in his day; moreover, he was aware that many housekeepers were women of theories in regard to the proper relation between mistress and maid.  Still, he had never supposed that the spirit of domestic regeneration included a system of public endearments.  He pondered upon the matter while he was eating his pudding, and it rendered him inattentive to Theodora’s views on the origin of totem poles.  Theodora saw his inattention, and, with the tact of the true hostess, she promptly changed the subject to one which should be less ponderous and more interesting.  Leaving the totem poles, she began to talk of Quantuck and the vagaries of Mac.  Quantuck proved to be an old vacation ground for Mr. Gilwyn, and he and Billy vied with each other in stories of the days when golf links were not, and the post office was still of the peripatetic variety, while Cicely kept close guard on her lips, lest she should involuntarily be drawn into adding her share to the conversation.  Then all at once, Billy fell from grace, even as Theodora had done.