The family kept two servants, June the “China boy,” who had been with them since the beginning of things, and Delphine the cook, a more recent acquisition.  June was, in a way, butler and second boy combined; he did all the downstairs work and the heavy sweeping, but it was another time-worn custom for Mrs. Ravis and Turner to spend part of every morning in putting the bedrooms to rights, dusting and making up the beds.  Besides this, Turner exercised a sort of supervision over Howard and Virginia, who were too old for a nurse but too young to take care of themselves.  She had them to bed at nine, mended some of their clothes, made them take their baths regularly, reestablished peace between them in their hourly quarrels, and, most arduous task of all, saw that Howard properly washed himself every morning, and on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons that he was suitably dressed in time for dancing school.

It was Sunday afternoon.  Mrs. Ravis was reading to her husband, who lay on the sofa in the back-parlour smoking a cigar.  Stanley had gone out to make a call, while Howard and Virginia had forgathered in the bathroom to sail their boats and cigar boxes in the tub.  Toward half-past three, as Turner was in her room writing letters, the door-bell rang.  She stopped, with her pen in the air, wondering if it might be Vandover.  It was June’s afternoon out.  In a few minutes the bell rang again, and Turner ran down to answer it herself, intercepting Delphine, who took June’s place on these occasions, but who was hopelessly stupid.

Mrs. Ravis had peered out through the curtains of the parlour window to see who it was, and Turner met her and Mr. Ravis coming upstairs, abandoning the parlour to Turner’s caller.

“Mamma and I are going upstairs to read,” explained Mr. Ravis.  “It’s some one of your young men.  You can bring him right in the parlour.”

“I think it’s Mr. Haight,” said Turner’s mother.  “Ask him to stay to tea.”

“Well,” said Turner doubtfully, as she paused at the foot of the stairs, “I will, but you know we never have anything to speak of for Sunday evening tea.  June is out, and you know how clumsy and stupid Delphine is when she waits on the table.”

It was young Haight.  Turner was very glad to see him, for next to Vandover she liked him better than any of the others.  She was never bored by being obliged to entertain him, and he always had something to say and some clever way of saying it.

About half-past five, as they were talking about amateur photography, Mrs. Ravis came in and called them to tea.

Tea with the Ravises was the old-fashioned tea of twenty years ago.  One never saw any of the modern “delicacies” on their Sunday evening table, no enticing cold lunch, no spices, not even catsups or pepper sauces.  The turkey or chicken they had had for dinner was served cold in slices; there was canned fruit, preserves, tea, crackers, bread and butter, a large dish of cold pork and beans, and a huge glass pitcher of ice-water.