“But Moray never does. How are we to entertain people who are accustomed to live in luxury, and who have abundance of plate and china and glass, and servants to wait upon them? Oh, we shall look ridiculous.”
“Lucy!”
“I don’t care, mamma, I can’t help it. I’ve been working away to see if I could not get things in proper trim to do us justice, but it is horrible. Moray must write and tell them they are not to come.”
“My son shall do nothing of the kind, Lucy, and I desire that you do the best you can, so that Moray may be content.”
“But, mamma, we have no flowers, no fruit for dessert, no pretty glass and vases; and I know the dinner will be horrible.”
“Moray asked the Days to come and see us, not our household arrangements, and we must give them some dinner before they go up into the observatory.”
“Oh, very well, mamma,” said Lucy, “I have protested. You and Moray must have it your own way.”
“Of course,” said Mrs Alleyne, composedly; “and I beg that you will find no more fault with your brother’s arrangements.”
“No, mamma: I have done.”
“I dare say Captain Rolph very often dines far worse at his mess than we shall dine to-morrow.”