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Mrs. Ravis had peered out through the curtains of the parlour window to
see who it was, and Turner met her and Mr. Ravis coming upstairs,
abandoning the parlour to Turner's caller.
"Mamma and I are going upstairs to read," explained Mr. Ravis. "It's
some one of your young men. You can bring him right in the parlour."
"I think it's Mr. Haight," said Turner's mother. "Ask him to stay to
tea."
"Well," said Turner doubtfully, as she paused at the foot of the stairs,
"I will, but you know we never have anything to speak of for Sunday
evening tea. June is out, and you know how clumsy and stupid Delphine is
when she waits on the table."
It _was_ young Haight. Turner was very glad to see him, for next to
Vandover she liked him better than any of the others. She was never
bored by being obliged to entertain him, and he always had something to
say and some clever way of saying it.
About half-past five, as they were talking about amateur photography,
Mrs. Ravis came in and called them to tea.
Tea with the Ravises was the old-fashioned tea of twenty years ago.


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