“Would you have the dinner up, then?” faltered Gertrude, whose countenance plainly told of the shame and annoyance she felt.
“If you don’t, my dear, Lawrence and I are going out to have a debauch on buns,” said the lawyer merrily.
“And cook says, Miss Gertrude, that—”
“Yes, yes, Denton; have the dinner up directly.”
Five minutes later they were in the severe-looking dining-room, partaking of burnt soup, dried fish, overdone entrées, and roast joints that were completely spoiled, while all the time the stern countenance of the old man gazed down from the canvas on the wall.
The dinner was naturally a failure, and her elders noted how Gertrude struggled to keep up appearances, but with ear attent and eyes constantly turning towards the door.
“Well,” said the doctor, in the course of conversation, “it is late, certainly, but I don’t know but what I like it. It seems going back to the pleasant old times.”
“Ah, when the day’s work was done, and one settled down to a comfortable supper.”
“Like to have been a lawyer; a doctor’s work is never done.”
“Pray don’t fidget so, my dear,” said Mrs Hampton, as they left the gentlemen to their wine.