to your room, my dear. You must be tired after the journey. And hungry, too. Well, we're going to have an early dinner."
"Chicken and plum tart! Chicken and plum tart!" exploded Wakefield, and old Mrs. Whiteoak stirred in her sleep.
Uncle Nicholas covered the child's face with his hand, and the family's gaze was fixed expectantly on the old lady. After a moment's contortion, however, her face resumed the calm of peaceful slumber; every one sat down, and conversation was carried on in hushed tones.
Alayne felt as though she were in a dream. The room, the furniture, the people were so different from those to which she was accustomed that their strangeness made even Eden seem suddenly remote. She wondered wistfully whether it would take her long to get used to them. Yet in looking at the faces about her she found that each had a distinctive attraction for her. Or perhaps it was fascination. Certainly there was nothing attractive about the grandmother unless it were the bizarre strength of her personality.
"I lived in London a good many years," mumbled Uncle Nicholas, "but I don't know much about New York. I visited it once in the nineties, but I suppose it has changed a lot since then."
"Yes, I think you would find it very changed. It is changing constantly."
Uncle Ernest whispered: "I sailed from there once for England. I just missed seeing a murder."
"Oh, Uncle Ernest, I wish you'd seen it!" exclaimed Wakefield, bouncing up and down on the padded arm of his sister's chair.
"Hush, Wake," said Meg, giving his thigh a little slap. "I'm very glad he didn't see it. It would have
