That young-old lady was in a state of suppressed excitement at the prospect of seeing Eustace again, as she contemplated making a final assault on him regarding the publication of her poems, but Aunt Jelly had so harassed and worried her, that she was reduced to a state of extreme limpness, and wept in a stealthy manner, making her eyes red, which by no means added to the beauty of her appearance.
The port and sherry decanters were on the table with the usual plate of cake, for though Miss Corbin intended to give Eustace a disagreeable reception she did not think of neglecting the duties of hospitality; fulfilled in her eyes by the production of cake and wine.
"Well," said Miss Corbin sharply, for the seventh time, "is he coming?"
"Not yet," replied Minnie meekly, after the fashion of Sister Anne.
Miss Corbin snorted like an old war-horse, tossed her head in an indignant manner, and resumed her work.
"In my young days," she observed at length in her usual harsh fashion, "the juniors were always civil to the seniors. Civility cost nothing then--now it appears to be unpurchasable. Eh! what do you say, Minnie? Nothing!--it's your sniffling then! how often have I told you to correct that habit. Look again--is he coming?"
"Not yet," answered Miss Pelch once more, "it's only three o'clock."
"I didn't ask you the time," rejoined Aunt Jelly tartly. "I suppose you're going to worry him about that poetry of yours?"
"I'm going to ask him to get it published," said Minnie with tearful dignity, "bound in blue and gold with my portrait at the beginning."
"Poor child," said Aunt Jelly, pausing a moment, "how you do build castles in the air. Well, I hope my nephew will help you to do what you wish. Nobody will read the book except the critics, and they'll abuse you. If they do," continued Miss Corbin, shaking her finger, "don't come to me for sympathy, for I've warned you. Is he coming?"