“My dear mother, you have never had a failure yet. To-night we shall have a very jolly meal.”
“I hope so,” sighed the vicar’s wife, “but I confess that I am not quite at rest in my mind about the pudding.”
“And there may be something wrong with the mince pies?”
“It’s very likely there will be, since the oven doesn’t heat properly.”
“And the roast beef will not be up to the mark?”
“Now, Alan, you are making fun of me. You don’t know what it is to be a housewife, my dear.”
“I don’t, mother. Dick and I are very rough and ready in our domestic arrangements. You have asked Sorley to dinner as usual, I hear from Marie.”
“Yes, dear,” replied Mrs. Fuller complacently, “your father knows he is not well off, and wishes to show him this yearly attention. Besides, since you love Marie, who is a sweet girl, you should be pleased.”
“I am pleased,” said her son gravely, “although Sorley doesn’t approve of my attentions to his niece.”
Mrs. Fuller bristled. “What better match does the man want for the girl,” she demanded, all her maternal feathers on end; “you have good blood in your veins, Alan, and good prospects, besides being very handsome and——”