“The boys like toffy and hardbake and Turkish-delight. Do you know, Florry, I read in a tiresome book that the real Turkish-delight isn’t a bit like the English one! Wasn’t it horrid of the author to say so? I’ve never really enjoyed it since.”
“It was cruel.”
“And both Max and Austin love Scotch shortbread.”
“Perhaps Scotch shortbread isn’t a bit like the English.”
“It isn’t,” said Frances contemptuously; “but you can get the real thing at Thorn’s. Let’s go in. I don’t see the boys anywhere, so we shall have time to order a beautiful tea for them—jam-sandwiches, and méringues, and plummy cake, and shortbread, and toffy, and hardbake, and Turkish-delight. Oh! and Bath-buns and gingerbread. I should like a little bread-and-butter. The boys think it is not worth while to have any bread-and-butter when they are out for a lark.”
Frances pushed open the glass door and entered. “Florry,” she whispered, “do make haste into the side-room and secure the nicest table. Stay! I’ll come too; and if we lay a few parcels down nobody will steal our chairs. We must have the table next the window, it’s such fun watching the carriages and people in the street. We can come back to do our ordering.”
The girls advanced boldly to take by storm (if necessary) the chosen spot.
“Oh! I say! What—!”
The most popular table in Thorn’s private tea-room was already occupied. On two of the four chairs in front of it sat Max and Austin, bolt upright, their countenances wearing an expression of almost seraphic calm. The table was covered with good things. The girls looked, and saw jam-sandwiches, méringues, plum-cake, shortbread, Bath-buns, gingerbread, and a little—a very little—bread-and-butter. Glass sweetmeat dishes contained chocolate-creams, chocolate-almonds, toffy, hardbake, and Turkish-delight. Max mounted guard over a laden tea-tray.
No sooner did they behold the astonished faces of their comrades than the boys rose, and with their finest company manners offered the best places to the girls.