"For the Lord's sake!" cried Temperance, "say whether things are ship-shape."
I was surprised at the taste she had displayed, and told her so.
"For once I have tried to do my best," she said; "all for Verry. Call 'em in; the turkeys will be on in a whiffle."
Tables were set in the hall, as well as in the dining-room. "They must sit down," she continued, "so that they may eat their victuals in peace." The supper was a relief to Veronica, and I blessed father's forethought. Nobody was exactly merry, but there was a proper cheerfulness. Temperance, Fanny, and Manuel were in attendance; the latter spilled a good deal of coffee on the carpet in his enjoyment of the scene; and when he saw Veronica take the flowers in her hand, he exclaimed, "Santa Maria!"
Everybody turned to look at him.
"What are you doing here, Manuel?" asked Ben.
"I wait on the señoritas," he answered. "Take plum-duff?"
Everybody laughed.
"Do you like widows?" whispered Fanny at the back of my chair. I made a sign to her to attend to her business, but, as she suggested, looked at Alice. At that moment she and father were drinking wine together. I thought her handsomer than ever; she had expanded into a fair, smooth middle age.
The talking and clattering melted vaguely into my ears; I was a lay-figure in the scene, and my soul wandered elsewhere. Mr. Somers began to fidget gently, which father perceiving, rose from the table. Soon after the guests departed. The remains of the feast vanished; the fires burnt down, "winding sheets" wrapped the flame of the candles, and suppressed gaping set in.