Thus adjured Minnie did not dare to disobey, and although she hated wine, dutifully swallowed a glass of old port, which was so strong that it made her cough. The revivifying effect was soon seen in the colour which came into her pale cheeks, proving that Aunt Jelly was right in her prescription, as a long girlhood of vegetarianism had weakened the Pelch system.
Minnie now feeling better sat down and took up her work, which consisted in crocheting antimacassars, a mode of employing time of which Aunt Jelly approved. Indeed, the industrious Miss Pelch had manufactured enough antimacassars to stock a bazaar, and she was constantly at work on them except when she took a turn at talking, for Miss Corbin would not allow her to knit, that being her own special weakness. The two sat working in silence for a few minutes, Miss Jelly grim and repellent as the Sphinx and Minnie weakly gay, as the wine had slightly affected her brain.
"Minnie," said Aunt Jelly suddenly, pointing to the table with one lean finger, "wipe your glass."
"Very well, Miss Jelly," responded Miss Pelch with her invariable formula, and thereupon arose from her seat and having wiped the glass with a duster which she took from a drawer, replaced the glass on the tray, folded up and put away the duster, then returned to her chair and antimacassar in meek silence.
Silence, however, did not suit Aunt Jelly, who liked to be amused, so she gave Minnie the last letter she had received from Victoria and made her read it, keeping up a running comment on the contents meanwhile.
"Liked Rome did she!--humph! nothing but pictures and priests no doubt. Cooking wasn't good. Of course not, all oil and garlic. Mr. Trubbles ill! pity that fool doesn't die--not much loss about him I should think. Wait a bit, Minnie, till I count the heel of this stocking. One, two, three, four--go on, I can listen--ten, eleven, twelve. My nephew gone to Cyprus--twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two--he's always going to some out-of-the-way place--forty-five, forty-six. He'll end up by being eaten by cannibals--fifty-three! Humph! I hope his new book will be more respectable than the last one. Eh! The Master of Otterburn. Who is he? Never heard of him. Coming back by Naples!--how can they come back by Naples. Oh! the steamer, yes! I hope Victoria won't flirt with all the young men on board. Perhaps she'll be sea-sick. That'll take all the nonsense out of her. Is that all?--dear me, these girls can't write a letter now-a-days. Here, give it to me back. You read so quietly, I can't hear half you say."
This terrible old woman seized the letter and put it away, frowning on Minnie meanwhile, that damsel having meekly resumed her antimacassar.
"Four o'clock," said Miss Corbin, as the clock struck the hour, "they should be here by now, but none of you young people are punctual now-a-days."
"Perhaps they've been detained," expostulated Minnie timidly.
"Nonsense," snapped Miss Jelly wrathfully. "Why should they be detained? They've been two days in town already. Gadding about I daresay. I don't think much of his wife, but whatever she is he's worse. I don't know however I came to have such a nephew. He hasn't got his mother's brains. That comes of having an idiot for a father."