But Trampy was so pleased at meeting them, he never stopped shaking them by the hand. Lily had to accept a bag of cakes to share with the troupe when they had their tea. Then, at last:
“Au revoir, old man; au revoir, my love, my little peach!”
Lily’s head was quite turned by this jolly day: it made her forget six months of worries. To think that, for some people, every day was like that! However, she mustn’t complain: a watch, a chain as well, the somersault pulled off, compliments from Trampy....
Ma’s reception of them, when they got home, was icy. Pa looked a little like a school-boy caught at fault; and Lily, none too easy in her mind, put the cakes on the sideboard, and hastened to take off her mother’s big hat. Ma grumbled, under her breath: it was nothing but going out, now. Old Cinderella could stay at home, bareheaded, while my lady went shopping! A fine thing, my word, for a great sensible girl to abuse her Pa’s weakness! There was nothing to do at home, of course! Well, if it pleased Mr. Clifton, she had no more to say!... And, while she grumbled, Ma prepared the tea and shot glances at Lily, a Lily with red cheeks and bright eyes and looking so pretty that Ma, full of mixed pride and anxiety, felt sudden longings to eat her up with kisses, “ugly” that she was!
Pa did his best to calm Mrs. Clifton, tried to amuse her with the story of the sleeve-links, of the horse’s hocks, and Pa laughed, my!
“He laughs best who laughs last,” growled Ma.
“Just think, Ma,” said Lily, taking courage from Pa’s merriment. “That old rogue forbids his daughter to write, he pretends that....”
“And quite right too!” said Ma. “What do girls want with writing? And who do you mean? What old rogue? You don’t mean Mr. Fuchs, I suppose?”
“Why, yes, Ma, old Fuchs.”
“Old Fuchs! You chit, to talk like that of respectable people! Go to your room, impudence! Dry bread for you!”