“Oh, mother, I meant to have done them yesterday evening!”
“You had better take them to Duke’s room, it is the only quiet place. He is not there, I wish he were. Willis can wait while you fill them up,” said Mrs. Evelyn, not at all sorry to pin her daughter down for an hour’s quiet, and unaware that the room was occupied.
So Sydney, with a list of names and packet of cards, betook herself to her brother’s writing-table, never perceiving that there was anybody under the Algerine rug, till there was a movement, suddenly checked, and a voice said—
“Can I help?”
“Oh! don’t move. I’m so sorry, I hope—”
“Oh, no! I beg your pardon,” he said, with equal incoherency, and raising himself more deliberately. “Your brother put me here to rest, and I fell asleep, and did not hear you come in.”
“Oh, don’t! Pray, don’t! I am so sorry I disturbed you. I did not know any one was here—”
“Pray, don’t go! Can’t I help you?”
Sydney recollected that in the general disorganisation pen, ink, and table were not easy to secure, and replied—
“It is the people in the village who are to dine here to-morrow. They must have tickets, or we shall have all manner of strangers. The stupid printer only sent the tickets yesterday, and the keeper is waiting for them. It would save time if you would read out the names while I mark the cards; but, please, lie still, or I shall go.” And she came and arranged the cushions, which his movements had displaced, till he pronounced himself quite comfortable.