“Er-rum! When I want your advice, Matty, I shall ask it,” said Sir Hampton. “I must keep up my dignity in the county.”
“You could do it in no better way, Hampton, than by subscribing to the South Sea Islander Society—‘Sir Hampton Rea, twenty guineas,’ in the county paper, would add more to your dignity than giving a dinner party.”
This was at breakfast, and Fin cast malicious glances at her sister, who was blushing, and bending over her plate.
“Fanny!—er-rum!” continued Sir Hampton, not seeming to notice his sister, “we’ll say Friday. You will send invitations to— er-rum—let me see!”
“Stop a minute, Hampy dear,” cried her ladyship, making a scuffle to get at something. “There—oh! now, how tiresome—that cream jug always gets in the way. Thank you, Fin, my dear; take it up with a spoon—it isn’t hurt.”
“Oh, ma dear,” cried Fin, “the cream will taste of hot washerwoman and mangles. You can’t use it now.”
“Oh, I’ll drink it, my dear—oh!” she added, in a low voice, “Aunt Matty will think it such waste.”
“Are you ready, Fanny?” said Sir Hampton, rolling his head in his stiff cravat.
“One moment, Hampy,” said her ladyship, getting her pencil and tablets. “My memory is so bad now, I must put them down.”
“Then—er-rum—first we’ll say—”