Nice, sensible Cousin Jane from Cumberland smiled so kind and pleasant, and thought they ought to have more tea.
“And what’s your choice in cakes, Miss Caspar?” said the young man brightly. “Scones or muffins or some of those toppin’ things with sugar on ’em.”
“Thanks, anything’ll do for me,” said the Principal Girl, as easy as if she was playing Cinderella. “No fresh tea—quite warm and liquid. Just as I like it. I’ll pour it out myself. No use offering tea to Mr. Wingrove. A whisky and apollinaris, and—I didn’t catch your name—hadn’t you better have another one yourself?”
Oh, how rippin’! The heir to the barony was wreathed in smiles. But the rude girl opposite stared considerable at this simple spontaneity and natural ease of bearing.
“Such a bore,” said Arminius. “Got to go to-morrah to the Cassel. Daresay, Lady Adela, I shall meet you there.”
“Papa is so poorly,” said the rude girl, thawing some. “But, of course, Aunt Selina will explain it to the Cassel as she is in waiting there just now.”
“Don’t know Blackhampton?” said Cinderella. “Oh, but you ought to know; it is every Englishman’s duty to know Blackhampton. Dear, dirty old Blackhampton!” said the Principal Girl. “The very best town in England. You are always sure of your friends in front when you play in Blackhampton.”
The heir to the barony supposed it was so. Not in any perfunctory spirit. How do you suppose the young chap could be perfunctory with his divinity drinking her tea, and eating Monsieur Eschoffier’s famous comfit cakes as though she enjoyed them thoroughly.
Don’t let us heed the rude girl opposite. She is quite safe in the competent hands of Arminius.
“Here’s your whisky and polly,” said the Principal Girl; “and Mr. Wingrove’s, too. Better have some more tea, I think. Miss Percival and Lady Adela are going to have some to keep me company. Oh, yes, please. And I say, waiter, have you any of those cakes with currants in them, like you get at Blackhampton?”