Little Lucina stirred and woke, yet did not know she woke, not knowing she had slept.

To her thinking she had sat all this time with her eyes wide open, and the sight of her aunt Camilla writing and the leaf shadows on the arbor floor had never left them.

She saw the yellow cats with some surprise, but cats can steal in quietly when one's eyes are turned.

Had Lucina dreamed she had fallen asleep when an honored guest of her lady aunt, she would have been ready to sink with shame.

Blindness to one's innocent shortcomings seems sometimes a special mercy of Providence.
Lucina straightened herself with a flushed smile, gave just one glance at the great tray which old 'Liza bore before her; then looked away again, being fully alive to the sense that it is not polite nor ladylike to act as if you thought much of your eating and drinking.
Old 'Liza set the tray on a little table in the midst of the arbor, and immediately odors, at once dainty and delicate, spicy, fruity, and aromatically soothing, diffused themselves about.