“Oh, Matty, pray don’t,” said Lady Rea, appealingly.
“Er-rum! Silence, Fanny,” said Sir Hampton. “And as for your remarks, Matilda, they are uncalled for. My children would not, I am sure, encourage the—er-rum—advances of that person; and Lady Rea would be one of the first to crush any—er-rum—thing of the kind.”
“Indeed!” said Aunt Matty, spitefully. “That—er-rum—will do,” said Sir Hampton. “Fanny, those will be our guests. See that the dinner is worthy of our position.”
He went out like a stout, elderly emperor of florid habit, and, as soon after as was possible, Lady Rea beat a retreat, leaving Aunt Matty taking dog, after her habit, in strokes with one hand, holding a pocket handkerchief cake in the other; “and looking,” Edward the footman, said in the kitchen, after removing the breakfast things, “like a bilious image getting ready for a fit.”
Sir Hampton’s study was horticulture that morning; and, after swallowing a page on the manipulation of the roots of espaliers and pyramid trees, he was about to go out and attack Sanders, the gardener, when Edward announced Sir Felix Landells and Captain Vanleigh on business, and they were shown in.
“Really—hope not deranging—untimely call,” said Sir Felix.
“We will not detain you long, Sir Hampton,” said Vanleigh, with a great show of deference.
“Er-rum, gentlemen,” said Sir Hampton, whose face shone with pride, “in these rural—er-rum—districts, when one is—er-rum—far from society and town, sociability and hospitality should, er—”
“Go hand in hand—exactly,” said Vanleigh, smiling.
“Er-rum, I am very glad to see you, gentlemen,” said Sir Hampton. “Oddly—er-rum—oddly enough, we were discussing a little dinner for Friday. Could you—er-rum—both, both—er—honour us with your company?”