For Lady Tyrrell and Mrs. Charnock Poynsett were to have garden-parties on alternate Wednesdays, and the whole neighbourhood soon followed suit.
“You’ll find nobody at home, Jenny,” said Julius, coming out of a cottage opposite, as she rode up to Mrs. Hornblower’s, on one of the last days of August. “Nobody—that is, but my mother. Can you come up and see her?”
“With all my heart; but I must get down here; I’m sent for one of Herbert’s shirts. The good boy lets mamma and aunty manage them still! I believe their hearts would break outright if he took to shop ones, like the rest of them. Hush, Tartar, for shame! don’t you know me? Where’s your master?”
“At a garden-party at Duddingstone. Your mother is better, I see.”
“Yes, thank you—out driving with papa. Good Rollo!” as the dignified animal rose from the hearthrug to greet her, waving his handsome tail, and calmly expelled a large tabby cat from the easy-chair, to make room for his friends. “Well done, old Roll! Fancy a cat in such company.”
“Herbert’s dogs partake his good-nature.”
“Mungo seems to be absent too.”
“Gone with him no doubt. He is the great favourite with one of the Miss Strangeways.”
“Which—Herbert or Mungo?”
“Both! I might say, I know the young ladies best by one being rapturous about Tartar and the other about Mungo. Rollo treats both with equally sublime and indifferent politeness, rather as Raymond does.”