Let it rest a bit--why, it's the color of straw." "This peculiar tea is always of a light color," replied Mrs.Bertram, her sallow face growing darkly red.

"I hope you will appreciate it; but perhaps it is a matter of training.

It is, however, I assure you, quite the vogue among my friends in London." Mrs.Meadowsweet felt crushed.

She received the cup of flavorless, half-cold liquid presented to her in a subdued spirit, sipped it with the air of a martyr, and devoutly wished herself back again in the Gray House.
Mrs.Bertram knew perfectly well that her guest thought the tea detestable and the cake stale.

It was as necessary for people of Mrs.
Meadowsweet's class to go in for strong tea and high living as it was for people of Mrs.Bertram's class to aspire to faded felt in the matter of carpets, and water bewitched in the shape of tea.