Dear Lascelles (it said),—The art of the age seems clearly to call for the presence at the Acacias of the wonderful Miss Perry. Unless the Fates are adverse—which, according to Juvenal, they are sometimes—she will appear about 4.30 o’clock to-morrow (Tuesday) afternoon to claim in her own proper person a cup of tea, together with two lumps of sugar and one cream bun, Buszard’s large size. Forgive the shortness of the notice. Our old and common friend did not develop sufficiently marked symptoms of laryngitis until this morning to submit to the decree of her medical adviser. He has ordered her to keep her bed. The accomplished Miss Burden accompanies us in an official capacity. Ponto does not.
Sincerely yours,
Cheriton.
P.S.—Strawberries and cream are known to be very delectable.
Jim’s uncommonly youthful mother was vastly amused.
“Never tell me, my son,” said she, “that an extremely well-informed Providence does not watch over the destinies of even the humbler denizens of the suburb of Balham. We are to be deluged with three persons of fashion, and the Miss Champneys are sure to pay a call—they always pay a call—this afternoon.”
“Those old guys,” said Jim. “I sincerely hope not.”
“When will you learn, my son,” said Jim’s mother, “to be more respectful towards the two great ladies of our neighborhood, the real live daughters of a deceased dean?”
“I beg their pardons,” said Jim, who was humbled. “I am afraid I have been getting very uncouth of late.”
“The great world is so unsettling, my son. I am afraid you are already beginning to patronize a ridiculous old frump like me.”
“Beginning!” said Jim.