"I think it's a perfect scream, and it's nearly seven, and Hugo will be here at quarter past, punctually. Now will you fly?"
"You might have waked me a little earlier. Good gracious!... How long have you been in? Anything happen while I napped?"
"Not a single, solitary, blessed thing.... There you are!--Easy does it!"
"I'll be dressed long before you are now," was the maternal retort, accompanied by a long stretch.
And, though unchallenged, she was as good as her word. Highly efficient at the toilet as elsewhere, she required small assistance from Flora, whom she dispatched to tidy up the sitting-room instead. The good little lady was armed cap-a-pie by seven-fifteen, at which time a glance into Carlisle's room revealed much backwardness there, not concealed by the appearances of haste. Hugo would have to wait, that was clear; and just as it was clear, up Mr. Canning's name came skipping from the office.
In the tidied-up sitting-room Mrs. Heth entertained her distinguished son-to-be, during the little delay. She always enjoyed a good talk with Hugo. He was her pledge of a well-spent life, her Order of Merit, her V.C. and Star and Garter, rolled together in a single godlike figure. She beamed upon him, tugging at white gloves half a size too small. Canning tapped a well-shod foot with his walking-stick, and wished for his love.
The wish grew by what it fed on, and the banquet ran long. Half an hour passed before the door from Mrs. Heth's bedroom opened and Carlisle appeared. However, she looked worth waiting for. She shimmered a moment from the threshold, and the two in the sitting-room thought together that they had never seen her so radiantly lovely.
"I made her!" thought Mrs. Heth.
"Mine!" thought Canning.
And Cally thought, her eyes upon her lover: "Me afraid!..."