"Who's that tray
for?"
"Brownie, of course." Norah was getting a little ruffled--criticism like
this had not come to her.
"Well, I think it's extraordinary--and so would my mother," Cecil said,
with an air of finality.
"I suppose a town is different," said Norah, striving after patience.
"We like to look after everyone here--and I think it's grand when
everyone's nice to everyone!" She paused; it was hard to be patient and
grammatical, too.
"School will teach you a number of things," said her cousin loftily. He
rose and put down his cup. "A lady shouldn't lower herself."
"Dad says a lady can't lower herself by work," retorted Norah. "Anyhow,
if taking tea to dear old Brownie's going to lower me, it'll have to,
that's all!"
"You don't understand," said Cecil. "A lady has her own place, and to
get on terms of familiarity with the lower classes is bad for both her
and them." He looked and felt instructive. "It isn't exactly the action
that counts--it's the spirit it fosters--er--the feeling--that is,
the--er, in short, it's a mistake to--"
"Oh, please be careful, Cecil, you're sitting in some dough!"
Norah sprang forward anxiously, and instructiveness fell from Cecil as
one sheds a garment. He had sat down on the edge of the table in the
flow of his eloquence; now he jumped up angrily, and, muttering
unpleasant things, endeavored to remove dough from his person.
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