Nursery hours! we couldn't think of it.
“Of course not,” returns Boodels; “so I said to her . . . . She was rather huffed at the idea of my calling them ‘nursery hours,’ and wanted to know if I meant that she was in her second childhood. In fact,” says Boodels, blurting it all out, “there's been a row, and the old girl threatened to take away the Chertons.”
“Pooh!” from both of us.
“But if she goes—” commences Boodels, who has a strict and severe sense of propriety.
“If she does,” cries Milburd, “look here! I've got it.” He subdues his excitement, and proceeds, “I've a letter from the Regniatis.”
“Regniatis! let's see,” considers Boodels. “They're relations of yours?”
“Yes. Count Regniati, an Italian, and the jolliest fellow in the world”—he adds this as a set-off against his nationality, which may, he evidently thinks, suggest secret societies, daggers, carbonari—“married my Aunt. The Chertons are also some sort of distant connection. At least they often stay with Madame. So that she'll be their chaperone. I'm sure you'll like 'em immensely,” he adds, “and the Signor, my uncle, is first-rate.” We decide. Abdication of Mrs. Boodels and enthronement of the Regniati dynasty.
“Good,” exclaims Boodels. “Then I'll tell my grandmother to-day. I don't want to do anything unpleasant”—we agree with him, such a feeling does him honour—“and I'll take the opportunity of her wanting to go up to an aurist to congédier her. After all the old lady will be much happier away, and I'll tell her that we shall be so glad to see her whenever she likes to turn up again, that is, if the Hall is still going on.”
We admit that nothing could be more courtly, more diplomatic than this.
Milburd is to invite his Uncle and Aunt. And that's settled.