Forgetting that talking was evidently not in favor with her relatives at meal time, Rebecca suddenly burst out with: "It reminds me of the ads in the subway. I used to sit and look at the ham and eggs and waffles and things until I'd get so hungry I didn't know what to do. I know it isn't high art to paint fried eggs so you can almost smell them, but it is very clever of the artist. Don't you think so, Uncle Spot?"
The young man looked up in astonishment, but not at her. What business did this little person have calling him Uncle Spot? She did not wait for a reply.
"Now, I don't think much of the way they do the waffles. They seem so stiff and uncompromising, with no feeling in them. I am sure they would never melt the butter as Aunt Testy's do, but maybe the poor artist did not have a good model. Perhaps he never had an Aunt Testy in his life."
"I want the phaeton and Dolly this morning, Spottswood," Miss Evelyn said, paying not the least attention to Rebecca's gay little attempt at conversation. "I have an appointment with Miss Wood to try on my blue taffeta."
"I will go with you," said Miss Myra. "I am anxious to match some wool over at the Court House."
