Later That Night
"Please pass the beans," he father muttered.
Elizabeth looked up quizzically, but obediently took the elegant porcelain bowl of stringed beans all of the way down the near fifty-foot table to wear her father sat reading the day's newspaper.
He slowly peered out from behind the paper and watched Lizzy scoop out a lump of the entrée. "That's good," he sighed and returned to his reading.
Lizzy frowned angrily and stomped back down to her seat at the far other end of the table. Returning to composure she plastered on a fake smile, "Where did you get that paper from?"
"The newsboy in front of our building," he replied, and folded the paper neatly, placing it at his side.
"Oh, -" Elizabeth began to say, but he cut her off, "There are different customs here in America, and one of them is that there is no talking at the table."
Lizzy couldn't even manage to sustain that smile on her face, "We always used to talk at the table. What's changed?"
"We aren't in London any longer."
"Well, then I guess that I am no longer hungry," Lizzy replied. Papa frowned as he watched her shove her chair underneath the table and rush out of the room.
