“Yes, ma’am,” said Joseph, who was handing potatoes to the mutton broth.
“We must go in good time, for we shall have to visit the tailor’s about your new livery, Joseph.”
Joseph’s jaw dropped like the lower lids of his eyes, and a very waxy potato from the dish as he sloped it down, the said potato gambolling gaily across the cloth as if under the idea that it was a vegetable cricket-ball, and that its duty was to hit Ruth’s high-backed chair wicket fashion on the other side. It was, however, carefully blocked by that young lady with a spoon, and after a moment’s hesitation deposited in her soup-plate, her cousins, however, eyeing it jealously from old habit, as if they thought she was getting more than her share.
“Be careful, Joseph,” said Miss Philippa with severity; and Joseph was careful as he went on waiting; but the perspiration broke out profusely over his forehead, and he seemed, as he gazed from one to the other of his mistresses, as though the news, so unaccustomed in its way, was almost greater than he could bear.
“Bring those bouquets from the drawing-room, Joseph,” said Miss Philippa, just before the removal of the soup-tureen.
Joseph went out, and, to the astonishment of the young ladies, returned with the presents.
“Take that one to Miss Clotilde,” said Miss Philippa, beaming on the eldest of the young ladies, as she indicated the gayest of the carefully built up bunches of flowers. “Yes; and now that one to Miss Marie.”
The bouquets were handed to the young ladies in turn.
“Now remove the soup-tureen,” said Miss Philippa.
“Oh, aunt!” exclaimed Clotilde, as Joseph left the room.