This is coming down in the world with a vengeance. But what are the odds? So I reassure her.
“Mother is sure to let it be known. Perhaps, even, people who are not relations may come, people I should not care to know,” resumed Mousmé, drawing herself up, and looking ridiculously funny in her sudden affectation of pride—and after the sampan man, too!
I shall have a queer party, it is certain. Never mind. Only, I must caution Mousmé not to mention her uncle the barber to Lou when we get to England, nor refer even casually to the brother-in-law who earns a living as a sampan rower.
During the next few days Mousmé is very busy. She knows, if I do not, what a superior and lavish entertainment will be expected of the “very much rich English sir;” men and women from the town seem to be clicking our wicket gate after them all day long, and walking up the path to the house interminably.
Mousmé has ordered everything which can in any way assist in confirming their belief in my importance and wealth. The piéces de résistance of the feast are different sorts of Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits. I know well how little Aki’s eyes will gleam at the mere sight of the sugared ones.
These biscuits, strange to say, will stamp the entertainment as one of superior character. They are, of course, very dear, and Mousmé knows they will be duly appreciated.
She tells me in an awed voice that her numerous relatives will come early and depart late.
“Will, perhaps, not go until all these wonderful biscuits have disappeared.”
I smilingly pretend to be very terrified.
We have entertained our vast collection of relatives; and possibly more than one stranger unawares.