But he rose, and crossed over to the fat wife of the member for this division, and soon her face beamed with smiles.
I soothed Mr. McCormack, who somehow felt the sugar had been his fault.
Augustus mollified the fog-horn Dodd, and peace was restored all around.
It is a long time between tea and dinner when the days are growing short. It was only half-past six when every excuse for lingering over the teacups had expired.
What on earth could one do with this ill-assorted company for a whole hour?
Augustus, with a desire to be extremely smart, had commanded dinner at half-past eight.
Mercifully, the decent people and some of the men played bridge, and were soon engaged at one or two tables. Augustus, who is growing fond of the game, made one of the fourth, thus leaving five of our guests hanging upon my hands.
"Shall I show you your rooms? Perhaps you would like to rest before dinner," I said to the ladies, who were good enough to assent, with the exception of Mrs. Dodd, who snorted at the idea of resting.
"Wullie," she said to Mr. Dodd. She had evidently picked up the Scotch pronunciation of his name from him, a quiet, red-haired man originally from Glasgow. He was hovering in the direction of one of the bridge-tables. "Wullie, don't let me see you playing that game of cards. There are letters to be written to Martha and my mother. Come with me," she commanded.
Mr. Dodd obeyed, and they retired to the library together.