Mrs. Deacon listened.
Lulu, coming in with the toast, was warned to silence by an uplifted
finger. She deposited the toast, tiptoed to her chair. A withered baked
potato and cold creamed salmon were on her plate. The child Monona ate
with shocking appreciation. Nothing could be made of the voices in the
hall. But Mrs. Bett's door was heard softly to unlatch. She, too, was
listening.
A ripple of excitement was caused in the dining-room when Mr. Deacon was
divined to usher some one to the parlour. Mr. Deacon would speak with
this visitor in a few moments, and now returned to his table. It was
notable how slight a thing would give him a sense of self-importance.
Now he felt himself a man of affairs, could not even have a quiet supper
with his family without the outside world demanding him. He waved his
hand to indicate it was nothing which they would know anything about,
resumed his seat, served himself to a second spoon of salmon and
remarked, "More roast duck, anybody?" in a loud voice and with a slow
wink at his wife.
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