“Am I late, Clifford!” she said, putting down the few flowers and taking up the tea-caddy, as she stood before the tray in her hat and scarf. “I’m sorry! Why didn’t you let Mrs. Bolton make the tea?”

“I didn’t think of it,” he said ironically. “I don’t quite see her presiding at the tea-table.”

“Oh, there’s nothing sacrosanct about a silver teapot,” said Connie.

He glanced up at her curiously.

“What did you do all afternoon?” he said.

“Walked and sat in a sheltered place. Do you know there are still berries on the big holly tree.”