As soon as she thought it decently practicable, she gave a significant look at her brother and arose.  “I guess we’ll walk out to dinner now,” said she, with solemn embarrassment.  Mrs. Lowe had nothing of her brother’s ease of manner; indeed, she entertained a covert scorn for it.  “Daniel can be dreadful smooth an’ fine when he sets out,” she sometimes remarked to her daughter.  The lawyer’s suave manner seemed to her downrightness to border upon affectation.  She, however, had a certain respect for it as the probable outcome of his superior education.

She marched ahead stiffly now, and left her brother to his flourishing seconding of her announcement.  Flora and the children received them beamingly when they entered the dining-room.  Flora was quite sure that she remembered Mrs. Maxwell, she was glad to see her, and she was glad to see Lois, and they would please sit right “here,” and “here.”  She had taken off the children’s pinafores and washed their faces, and they stood aloof in little starched and embroidered frocks, with their cheeks pinker than ever.

Flora seated one on each side of her, as she had said.  “Now, you must be good and not tease,” she whispered admonishingly, and their blue eyes stared back at her with innocent gravity, and they folded their small hands demurely.

Nevertheless, it was through them that the whole dignity of the meal was lost.  If they had not been present, it would have passed off with a strong undercurrent of uneasiness and discomfort, yet with composure.  Mr. Tuxbury would have helped the guests to beefsteak, and the rest of the family would have preferred the warmed-up veal stew.  Or had the guests looked approvingly at the stew, the scanty portion of beefsteak would have satisfied the furthest desires of the family.  But the perfect understanding among the adults did not extend to the two little girls.  They leaned forward, with their red lips parted, and watched their uncle anxiously as he carved the beefsteak.  There was evidently not much of it, and their anxiety grew.  When it was separated into three portions, two of which were dispensed to the guests, and the other, having been declined by their grandmother and mother, was appropriated by their uncle, anxiety lapsed into certainty.

“I want some beefsteak!” wailed each, in wofully injured tones.

Mr. Tuxbury set his mouth hard, and pushed his plate with a jerk toward his niece.  Her face was very red, but she took it—­she was aware there was no other course open—­divided the meat impartially, and gave each child a piece with a surreptitious thump.

Mr. Tuxbury, with a moodily knitted forehead and a smiling mouth, asked the guests miserably if they would have some veal stew.  It was perfectly evident that if they accepted, there would be nothing whatever left for the family to eat.  They declined in terrified haste; indeed, both Lois and her mother had been impelled to pass their portions of beefsteak over to the children, but they had not dared.