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Campbell:“Adoptive ones never joke.”

Mrs. Somers:“Not even about hand-painted fans? What an interesting fact!” She sits down on the sofa behind the little table on which the maid arranges the tea, and pours out a cup. Then, with her eyes on Mr. Bemis: “Cream and sugar both? Yes?” Holding a cube of sugar in the tongs: “How many?”

Bemis:“One, please.”

Mrs. Somers:, handing it to him: “I’m so glad you take your tea au naturel, as I call it.”

Campbell:“What do you call it when they don’t take it with cream and sugar?”

Mrs. Somers:“Au unnaturel. There’s only one thing worse: taking it with a slice of lemon in it. You might as well draw it from a bothersome samovar at once, and be done with it.”

Campbell:“The samovar is picturesque.”

Mrs. Somers:“It is insincere. Like Californians. Natives.”

Campbell:“Well, I can think of something much worse than tea with lemon in it.”

Mrs. Somers:“What?”

Campbell:“No tea at all.”

Mrs. Somers:, recollecting herself: “Oh, poor Mr. Campbell! Two lumps?”

Campbell:“One, thank you. Your pity is so sweet!”

Mrs. Somers:“You ought to have thought of the milk of human kindness, and spared my cream-jug too.”

Campbell:“You didn’t pour out your compassion soon enough.”

Bemis, who has been sipping his tea in silent admiration: “Are you often able to keep it up in that way? I was fancying myself at the theatre.”

Mrs. Somers:“Oh, don’t encore us! Mr. Campbell would keep saying his things over indefinitely.”

Campbell, presenting his cup: “Another lump. It’s turned bitter. Two!”

Bemis:“Ha, ha, ha! Very good–very good indeed!”

Campbell:“Thank you kindly, Mr. Bemis.”

Mrs. Somers, greeting the new arrivals, and leaning forward to shake hands with them as they come up, without rising: “Mrs. Roberts! How very good of you! And Mr. Roberts!”

III

[MR. and MRS. ROBERTS and the OTHERS]

Roberts:“Not at all.”

Mrs. Roberts:“Of course we were coming.”

Mrs. Somers:“Will you have some tea? You see I’m installed already. Mr. Campbell was so greedy he wouldn’t wait.”

Campbell:“Mr. Bemis and I are here in the character of heroes, and we had to have our tea at once. You’re a hero too, Roberts, though you don’t look it. Any one who comes to tea in such weather is a hero, or a–“

Mrs. Somers, interrupting him with a little shriek: “Ugh! How hot that handle’s getting!”

Campbell:“Ah, I dare say. Let me turn out my sister’s cup.” Pouring out the tea and handing it to Mrs. Roberts. “I don’t see how you could reconcile it to your No. Eleven conscience to leave your children in such a snow-storm as this, Agnes.”

Mrs. Roberts, in vague alarm: “Why, what in the world could happen to them, Willis?”

Campbell:“Oh, nothing to them. But suppose Roberts got snowed under. Have some tea, Roberts?” He offers to pour out a cup.

Mrs. Somers, dispossessing him of the teapot with dignity: “Thank you, Mr. Campbell; I will pour out the tea.”

Campbell:“Oh, very well. I thought the handle was hot.”

Mrs. Somers:“It’s cooler now.”

Campbell:“And you won’t let me help you?”

Mrs. Somers:“When there are more people you may hand the tea.”

Campbell:“I wish I knew just how much that meant.”

Mrs. Somers:“Very little. As little as an adoptive Californian in his most earnest mood.” While they talk–Campbell bending over the teapot, on which Mrs. Somers keeps her hand–the others form a little group apart.