“You are going to have a much grander affair than usual, I hear,” he ended—“more like a regular bazaar.”
“It sounds ungracious to say so,” she returned, rather anxiously, “but I am rather sorry that we have not kept to the old simple custom. Still, when Lady Mills offered a marquee, and to come herself and help to sell, and to bring her friends, we were obliged to make a difference. And then the band from Beaconsburgh—” She stopped, for it was old Mr. Reade who had offered to provide that.
“Ah, that’s my father’s fault!” the young man put in, laughing. “He’s a wicked old fellow, wanting to corrupt the rustic simplicity of the parish in his old age.”
His elder sister said “Laurence!” reprovingly. Mrs. Manners went on.
“And, if Lady Mills comes on the drag, she’ll bring a lot of idle young men”—Miss Lane and the younger Miss Reade looked up—“and there will be nothing to amuse them, for we have only one set of lawn-tennis—I think we must charge a penny a game for that”—in a practical tone—“and they will expect champagne and—”
“Oh, Lady Mills will bring that!” said Mr. Reade confidently, as if he had been on that drag with those idle young men himself.
“But Lady Mills and her set are not the style of people that Geldham is accustomed to,” said Mrs. Manners, in a superior tone.
“Oh, no!” assented Mr. Reade gravely.
“And they will make fun of everything; and the treat is after all for the village-people; and I don’t want those fast gentlemen from London to get talking to the village-girls.”
“I don’t think they will want to do so, Mrs. Manners, I don’t indeed,” said Mr. Reade.