“We were very sorry to take your name off our books, Mrs. Salisbury,” said he, with pleasant dignity; “I can remember your coming into the old store on River Street when this young lady here was only a small girl.”

His hand indicated a spot about three feet from the floor, as the height of the child Alexandra, and the grown Alexandra dimpled an appreciation of his memory.

“But I don’t understand,” Mrs. Salisbury said, wrinkling her forehead; “I had no idea that the account was closed, Mr. Lewis.  How long ago was this?”

“It was while you were ill,” said Mr. Lewis soothingly.  “You might look up the exact date, Mr. Laird.”

“But why?” Mrs. Salisbury asked, prettily puzzled.

“That I don’t know,” answered Mr. Lewis.  “And at the time, of course, we did not press it.  There was no complaint, of that I’m very sure.”

“But I don’t understand,” Mrs. Salisbury persisted.  “I don’t see who could have done it except Mr. Salisbury, and, if he had had any reason, he would have told me of it.  However,” she rose to go, “if you’ll send the jams, and the curry, and the chocolate, Mr. Laird, I’ll look into the matter at once.”

“And you’re quite yourself again?” Mr. Lewis asked solicitously, accompanying them to the door.  “That’s the main thing, isn’t it?  There’s been so much sickness everywhere lately.  And your young lady looks as if she didn’t know the meaning of the word.  Wonderful morning, isn’t it?  Good morning, Mrs. Salisbury!”

“Good morning!” Mrs. Salisbury responded graciously.  But, as soon as she and Alexandra were out of hearing, her face darkened.  “That makes me wild!” said she.

“What does, darling?”

“That!  Justine having the audacity to change my trade!”

“But why should she want to, Mother?”

“I really don’t know.  Given it to friends of hers perhaps.”

“Oh, Mother, she wouldn’t!”

“Well, we’ll see.”  Mrs. Salisbury dropped the subject, and brought her mind back with a visible effort to the morning’s work.

Immediately after lunch she interrogated Justine.  The girl was drying glasses, each one emerging like a bubble of hot and shining crystal from her checked glass towel.

“Justine,” began the mistress, “have we been getting our groceries from Lewis & Sons lately?”

Justine placidly referred to an account book which she took from a drawer under the pantry shelves.

“Our last order was August eleventh,” she announced.

Something in her unembarrassed serenity annoyed Mrs. Salisbury.

“May I ask why?” she suggested sharply.

“Well, they are a long way from here,” Justine said, after a second’s thought, “and they are very expensive grocers, Mrs. Salisbury.  Of course, what they have is of the best, but they cater to the very richest families, you know—­firms like Lewis & Sons aren’t very much interested in the orders they receive from—­well, from upper middle-class homes, people of moderate means.  They handle hotels and the summer colony at Burning Woods.”