“A short winter’s day, too!” said Beatrice. “One thing is certain—that we can’t go home to luncheon.”
“What will grandmamma think of that?” said Henrietta doubtfully. “Will she like it?”
Beatrice could have answered, “Not at all;” but she said, “O never mind, it can’t be helped; we should be late even if we were to set off now, and besides we might be caught and stopped.”
“Oh, that would be worse than anything,” said Henrietta, quite convinced.
“So you mean to starve,” said Alex.
“See what slaves men are to creature comforts,” said Beatrice; “what do you say, Henrietta?”
“I had much rather stay here,” said Henrietta; “I want nothing.”
“Much better fun to go without,” said Fred, who had not often enough missed a regular meal not to think doing so an honour and a joke.
“I’ll tell you what will do best of all!” cried Queen Bee. “You go to Dame Reid’s, and buy us sixpennyworth of the gingerbread papa calls the extreme of luxury, and we will eat it on the old men’s bench in the porch.”
“Oho! her Majesty is descending to creature comforts,” said Alex. “I thought she would soon come down to other mortals.”