They then shook hands with Herr Dremmel and said they were sure they wished him joy, too, and he thanked them with propriety and bows.
"Such a thing has never happened on a Dent's Tour before—oh, no, never before at all I'm sure," said the most elderly lady nervously, with a number of nods.
"There isn't time enough, that's what I sometimes think," said the young lady who had hurried her companion away to the sunset the evening before. "What's a week?" And she stared at the cake and frowned.
"Dent's had a funeral once," said a square small lady who kept her hands plunged in the pockets of a grey jersey.
"Now Miss Jewks, really—" protested the elderly lady. "One doesn't mention—"
"Well, it wasn't their fault, Miss Andrews. They didn't want to have it, I'm sure. It was a gentleman from Gipsy Hill—"
"What a beautiful—er—cake," hastily interrupted the elderly lady.
"Funny thing, I sometimes think," continued Miss Jewks, "to go for a holiday and die instead."
"Those silver leaves—" said the elderly lady, raising her voice, "I call them dainty."
"It's like a wedding-cake, isn't it?" said the young lady of the sunset, peering close at it with a face of gloom.