Austin sighed.
“I have kept one back for you, dear,” said Frances quickly. “I know you hate cold beef. You shall eat that delicious rissole while I dish the pudding.”
The two now wrangled in undertones as to which should enjoy the comparative dainty of a rissole, and Mrs. Morland laughed behind her fan until she feared detection. Finally, Austin decided that the morsel should be halved, and the preparations then proceeded in uninterrupted solemnity.
“Is Jim ready?” inquired Frances again. “My soles will be spoilt if dinner is kept waiting.”
“Oh, Jim’s all right. He’s turning out the potatoes.”
“Austin! Last time Jim meddled with the potatoes he let one drop into the ashes—and he nearly spoiled his best coat!”
“Well, if he’s such a duffer he must go without, himself.”
“I shall fly to the rescue. Oh, Austin, you promised to mix the fresh mustard!”
“Crikey! So I did! I’ll do it now, in half a jiffey.”
“Come then; it’s half-past eight already!”