“It was an English family had arrived that morning who bespoke them.”
“Faix! then, they 're likely to lose soup and fish,” said Peter; “the 'coorses' here wait for no man.” And as he spoke the party made their appearance.
A large elderly lady of imposing mien and stately presence led the way, followed by a younger and slighter figure; after whom walked a very feeble old man, of a spare and stooping form; the end being brought up by a little rosy man, with a twinkling eye and a short jerking limp, that made him seem rather to dance than walk forward.
“They've ca-ca-carried off the soup already,” cried the last-mentioned personage, as he arranged his napkin before him, “and—and—and, I fa-fancy, the fish, too.”
“Be quiet, Scroope,” called out the fat lady; “do be quiet.”
“Yes, but we shall have to p-p-pay all the same,” cried Scroope.
“There 's good sense in that, anyway,” broke in Dalton; “will you take a glass of champagne with me, sir? you 'll find it cool, and not bad of its kind.”
Mr. Purvis acknowledged the courtesy gracefully, and bowed as he drank.
“Take the ortolans to that lady, Fritz,” said Dalton to the waiter; and Mrs. Ricketts smiled her sweetest gratitude.
“We are dreadfully late,” sighed she; “but the dear Princess of Stauffenschwillingen passed all the morning with us, and we could n't get away.”