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Smithson found it
difficult to get a tea-table, and would hardly have succeeded so soon as
he did if it had not been for the assistance of a couple of Lesbia's
devoted Guardsmen, who ran to and fro and badgered the waiters.
After much skirmishing they were seated at a rustic table, the blue
river gleaming and glancing in the distance, the good old trees
spreading their broad shadows over the grass, the company crowding and
chattering and laughing--an animated picture of pretty faces, smart
gowns, big parasols, Japanese fans.
Lesbia poured out the tea with the prettiest air of domesticity.
'Can you really pour out tea?' gasped a callow lieutenant, gazing upon
her with goggling, enraptured eyes. 'I did not think you could do
anything so earthly.'
'I can, and drink it too,' answered Lesbia, laughing. 'I adore tea.
Cream and sugar?'
'I--I beg your pardon--how many?' murmured the youth, who had lost
himself in gazing, and no longer understood plain English.
Mr. Smithson frowned at the intruder, and contrived to absorb Lesbia's
attention for the rest of the afternoon.


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