And now the day of the dinner had arrived, and Lady Rea had had such a furiously red face that Sir Hampton told her she ought to be ashamed of herself, and made the poor little woman, who had been fretting herself to death to do honour to his guests, shed tears of vexation.
Next there was a furious ringing of Sir Hampton’s bell, about six o’clock, and a demand whether the house was to smell of cabbage like that.
As the odour did not pass away, Sir Hampton sought his lady, who had gone to dress, and again made her shed tears by exclaiming against his mansion being made to smell like a cookshop.
“It’s that dreadful prize kitchener, Hampton, dear,” said poor Lady Rea. “The smell comes into the house instead of going up the chimney.”
“It’s nothing of the sort—its your stupid servants!” exclaimed the knight, and he bounced off to his room to prepare for the banquet.
“I’ve a good mind to make myself ugly as sin, Tiny,” said Fin, pettishly. But she did not, for she looked very piquante in her palest of pale blue diaphanous dresses, while her sister looked very sweet and charming in white.
“Why, Tiny, you look quite poorly,” cried Fin, in alarm. “Pray, don’t look like that, or that wretch Trevor will see that you’ve been fretting. If he prefers little servant-girls to my dear sister, let him have them.”
“Fin, dear, you hurt me,” said Tiny, simply; and there was such a tender, reproachful look in her sweet eyes that Fin gave a gulp, and, regardless of her get-up, threw herself on her sister’s breast.
“I’m such a thoughtless wretch, Tiny; I won’t say so any more.”
“Please, Miss, your par says are you a coming down?” said the maid sent to summon them; and they went down, to find Sir Hampton in so violently stiff a cravat, that the wonder was how it was possible that it could be tied in a bow, and the spectator at last came to the conclusion that it had been starched after it was on.