"Linda dear, it's Sunday. Let's have a little quiet," pleaded her sister.
At this moment, the head of the house entered, and his hopeful broke his bonds and, rushing to meet him, was lifted to a safe perch from which he looked down in rosy triumph on his dearest foe.
"Hello, everybody," said Henry Radcliffe. "If there isn't the girl that knows everything--including how to dance! You're a bird, Linda. How are you, Bertram?" The men shook hands, then the host approached the tea-table and kissed his wife.
"Put Harry right down here, dear. He's going to be a little gentleman and pass the tea."
"But not to Aunt Linda," shouted the child.
"No, no," agreed his mother pacifically. "You can take her tea to Uncle Bertram, and he'll pass it."
"Look out, Uncle Bertram, she'll tickle you," advised the boy out of long experience.
Linda, leaning lazily back in her armchair, met King's gray eyes and gave a low laugh.
"Just imagine such _lèse majesté_," she said, and the provoking arch of her lips made Bertram feel, as he always did, that she was laughing at him, not with him. He was too used to it to be disconcerted. He had a serious, even-featured, smooth-shaven face, light hair which would have liked to wave had its owner been willing, and short-sighted eyes, which, nevertheless, saw far enough to understand Linda Barry and deplore her.
"She'll catch your heels, too, if you go upstairs in front of her," continued the small boy, chuckling breathlessly as he watched his lazily reclining adored one, the sparks in whose eyes gave every hope that she was as ready as ever to spring.
"That sort of thing isn't good for a child. It overexcites him," remarked Bertram, unsmiling, dangling his eyeglasses by the ribbon.
"Dear, dear," said Linda. "Excuse me! I meant, Hear, hear!"
"Now, Harry darling," said Mrs. Radcliffe, "can you be careful? Father will sit between you and Aunt Linda, and don't go the other side of him _at all_. Do you understand?" Then to her sister, "You know how I value these cups, Linda. Please be good."
Linda stifled a yawn behind her white-gloved hand and looked very good indeed.
"Henry and I," went on the hostess complacently, "think we can't begin any too soon to make Harry at home in the drawing-room. Why, already he can stand and drink his cambric tea, and manage his cup as well as any of you, can't you, dear?"