Mrs. Birch was in the seat of honour, a position which she graced. In a
summer gown of white, her face round and glowing as it had not been in
years, she seemed the central flower of a most attractive bouquet. Mr.
Birch looked about him with appreciative eyes.
"I don't think _I_ could attend to the chafing-dish with any certainty
of result," he remarked. "I am too much occupied in observing the
guests. It strikes me that nowhere, either in New Mexico or Colorado,
did I see any people approaching those before me in interest and
attractiveness. Except one," he amended, as a general laugh greeted this
extraordinary statement, "and even she never seemed to me quite so----"
He hesitated.
"Say it, sir!" cried Lanse. "We're with you whatever it is. I think
'beautiful' is the word you want."
Mr. Birch's face lighted with a smile. "Thank you, that is the word," he
said.
The captain stirred his chopped chicken into his cream sauce with the
air of a chef. "Now here you are," he said.
The captain would not allow everything upon the table at once, picnic
fashion, but kept the viands behind a screen a few feet away, and with
Jeff's and Just's assistance, served them according to his ideas of the
fitness of things.
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