Ravenslee sat staring down at the letter, rubbing his square, fresh-shaven chin as one very much at a loss.
"'Might have said a little more—just a little more,'" he muttered, his gaze focussed upon a certain line.
"Will water cress an' angel cake an' a pot o' strawberry jam soot, Mr. Geoffrey?"
"Now I wonder what the dickens she can mean?" mused Ravenslee.
"She means jest strawberry jam an' angel cake an' water cress, fer tea—fer your visitors," said Mrs. Trapes, with a patient sigh.
"Visitors!" repeated Ravenslee, glancing up. "Why, yes, they'll be here about four o'clock."
"An' will water cress an' angel cake an'—"
"Quite enough! Certainly! Admirable!" exclaimed Ravenslee. "But what beats me," he continued, staring down at the letter again, "is what she can mean by writing this."
"Not knowin' what she's wrote, I can't say."
"Mrs. Trapes, I know you are Hermione's best and staunchest friend, and lately I have ventured to hope you are mine too. As such, I want you to read this letter—see if you can explain it!"