"I really—I have an engagement—that is a cab waiting." Then addressing his remarks to the eyes of Miss Lambert, "I shall be delighted if such a visitation does not bore you."
"Not a bit—Susannah, hang Mr Bevan's hat up in the hall. Come this way."
Mr Bevan followed his hostess across the hall to the breakfast-room; as he followed he heard with a shudder Susannah attempting to hang his hat on the high hall rack, and the hat falling off and being pursued about the floor.
Luncheon was laid in a free-handed and large-hearted manner. Three whitings on a dish of Sheffield plate formed the piece de résistance, there was jam which appeared frankly in a pot pictured with plums, but in the centre of the table stood a vase of Venetian glass filled with roses.
As they took their seats Susannah, who had apparently been seized with an inspiration, appeared conveying a bottle of Böllinger in one hand, and a bottle of Gold-water in the other.
"I brought them from the cellar, Miss," said the maid with a side glance at Charles—she was a good-natured-looking girl when not defending the hall door, but her under jaw seemed like the avenue gate, half off its hinges, and her intellect to be always oozing away through her half-open mouth. "They were the best I could find."
"That's right, Susannah," said her mistress; "try if you can get one of those little bottles of port, the ones with red seals on them and cobwebs; and close the door."
Mr Bevan opened the champagne and helped himself, Miss Lambert announcing the fact that she was a teetotaler.