Anna Chapin Ray

“ Ronald shifted his weight to the other foot; then he evened his weight and stood at attention.
"I am giving a dinner," Sir George announced at length.
Like Day Argyle, Ronald found himself at a loss as to how he was expected to meet the announcement.
"How interesting!" he observed dispassionately.
"Yes. I thought it would be interesting. It will be a Christmas dinner."
Ronald forced himself to smile cheerily.
"What a good idea!" he responded.
"Yes. It is so tiresome not to pay any attention to the day. This will not be on Christmas, exactly. It will be on the night after." ”

“ Day interpreted calmly, as she patted her own yoke into more perfect adjustment. "Where is Ronald?"
"In his room, pumping his bureau drawers in and out as if he mistook them for an accordeon. His nerves are getting on him, I'm afraid. He came in late, and took the stairs four at a time, shouting to Janet to hurry, or they'd be late. It must be a citadel ball, at the very least, to inspire so much prinking. It's a great thing to be a born Quebecker. ”

“ Ronald queried.
"Why, to eat, of course," Sir George made cannibalistic reply. "It will be at the Château at seven, the night after Christmas. There will be games in the drawing-room afterwards. You'll let me count on you? There are not so many people here in town that I know," he added, with an unconscious note of pathos which smote rebukingly upon Ronald's ear.
"I'll come, thanks," he responded cheerily; "I'll make a point of being there. At seven, you say?"
But Sir George had lapsed into silence again, and sat with his jaw drooping, his eyes fixed upon the hearth of the opposite stove. ”

“ Day, screwing herself about to reach the hooks on the back of her yoke, shaking her shoulders to settle the yoke into place, tying her wide silk sash, then turning it around into its proper place and softly patting it into position, before clasping her beads around her neck ”