He brewed it for her himself. He did it easily, with an effect of delicate ceremony.
Hildegarde, watching him, remarked, "I didn't know a man could."
"Could what?"
"Make tea."
"I lived in the East too long not to have learned a few arts that the average American doesn't know."
He talked to her, after that, of his experiences in the Orient. He had the gift of picturesque expression, and he broke off suddenly to say: "You're a flattering little Desdemona. You really make me feel like a personage—a traveler of parts."
"Well, you are, in my eyes. I've been a country mouse."
It was some time later that he came to the thing that was much on his mind. "I'm afraid I am not going to be able to stay with your father."
"Do you mean that you are going away?"
"Oh, not at once. But after the first of the year, I don't see how he will be able to keep me on. He told me the other day that if the election went the wrong way, he'd take you abroad."
"But how can he afford to take me abroad, Merry?"
"Miss Anne would go, too. And a villa in Italy would be cheaper for the three of you than separate establishments here."
A villa in Italy! Magic! Her mother had told her of Sorrento, Asolo, Capri—
"I have always dreamed of it," she told Meriweather. "I am perfectly sure it will never come true."
