“I am afraid we have an air of cheap gentility,” said his mother. “But don’t let them sneer at it. Gentility of any kind is quite an honorable aspiration.”
“I wonder,” said Jim, “if there is anybody in the neighborhood who would lend us a Peerage for the afternoon. We might stick it in the center of the room upon that little Japanese table.”
The front-door bell was heard to ring.
“Too late, too late,” said Mrs. Lascelles, dramatically. “The peerage has already arrived.”
“It is the Miss Champneys,” said Jim.
“I think not, laddie. It is only twenty past four, and it is so much more impressive to pay a call at five.”
“Two to one it’s the Hobson Family.”
The countenance of Jim’s mother assumed a look of anxiety that bordered upon the tragic.
“By all the saints and all the powers,” said she, “I had quite forgotten the existence of the Hobson Family. Do you really think it can be?”
“I am perfectly sure of it,” said Jim, with immense conviction. “This is an opportunity that the Hobson Family could not possibly miss.”