“Please don’t!” he said.

“But it—­tickles!”

“Well, let it!”

“But—­why should I?”

“For—­Arthur’s sake.”

“Arthur’s!” she laughed.  “Oh, Mr. Geoffrey, as if he would ever notice!”

“Well, then, for the—­er—­turkey’s sake!”

“The turkey!” she laughed.  “I’m afraid I’m dreadfully untidy to sit down at such a luxurious feast.”

“Are you?”

“Well—­am I not?  Look at this poor old gown!”

“I’m afraid I didn’t notice your—­er—­gown.”

“What did I tell you, Hermy?” said Spike, entering with the teapot.  “Geoff ain’t—­I mean, isn’t—­that kind o’ guy—­I mean mutt—­no, I mean feller.  Y’ see, Geoff, a girl always thinks a feller’s got his lamps—­I mean eyes—­on their rags—­clo’es, I mean.  ‘S’ funny, ain’t it?  Gee, but I’m hungry!”

“So am I!” said Hermione.

“So am I!” said Ravenslee.

“Why, then,” quoth Spike, “I’ll tell you what—­let’s all sit down and eat!  I guess I’m full o’ brilliant ideas t’night, but this ain’t no time for talk—­not with that turkey starin’ us in the face, it ain’t—­isn’t, I mean.  So quit chewin’ d’ rag an’ let’s chew d’ turk’ instead—­an’ Gee, but that’s some brilliant too, I guess!”

So down they sat, and while Hermione presided over the cups and saucers, Ravenslee carved.

“Light or dark meat, Miss Hermione?” he enquired.

“Herm; likes th’ light, but a drumstick for mine—­an’ please don’t forget th’ stuffin’, Geoff!”

“Tea, Mr. Geoffrey?”

“Thanks!” he answered, pausing to watch the curve of her shapely neck as she bent to pour the tea, and to note how her white hand grasped the battered teapot, little finger delicately poised.

“Say, Geoff—­get busy!” said Spike wistfully.  “I know the teapot’s a bit off on looks, but I broke the best one and—­”

“I didn’t even notice the teapot, Spike,” said Ravenslee, meeting Hermione’s quick, upward glance.

“Oh, cheese it, Geoff, here you’ve sat with your fork in th’ turk’ an’ your knife in th’ air, starin’ at that teapot a whole minute.”

“No, Spike, no!  I was only thinking that tea never tastes quite right unless poured out by a woman’s hand—­and the fairer the hand the better the tea!”

“Which means—­just what, Mr. Geoffrey?” laughed Hermione.

“Why, that Spike and I are about to drink the most delicious tea in the world, of course.”

“I’d rather be eatin’ that turk’ when you’ve sawed me off a leg,” sighed Spike.  “I say—­when you have!”

“Ah, to be sure!” said Ravenslee, turning his attention to his carving again, while Hermione bowed her golden head above the teacups.

“Gee, but she cuts tender!” quoth Spike; “that bird sure has the Indian sign on me!”

“Sugar, Mr. Geoffrey?”

“Two lumps, please.”

“Milk, Mr. Geoffrey?”

“Thank you!”