All this was uttered in a languid tone, as if, on the whole, life was too much trouble to be lived at all. Sarah had met with nothing of this kind in all her life before, and looked only impressed; in truth, she looked a good deal more impressed than she was, or rather she looked differently impressed to what she was, and Mrs. George Stubbs was pleased to be a little flattered thereby.
"You must come and have tea with me," she observed graciously to May. "I have not been able to get out except the day your mamma called--my unfortunate neuralgia has been so very trying. You may bring Sarah. Would you like to come to-night?
"Very much indeed, thank you, Aunt George," responded May.
"Very much indeed," echoed Sarah.
"Your cousins are, of course, all at school in Paris, and your uncle is in London, so we will have high tea at seven o'clock. Bring your music with you."
"Sarah plays the violin," said May, who hated playing in company herself. "She plays it beautifully. She's going to have lessons."
"Then bring your violin and let me hear you," said Mrs. George to Sarah; "it is a most stylish instrument."
"I will," said Sarah.
"Oh, is Flossie to come, Aunt George?" asked May, as they shook hands.
"Flossie? No. I can-not do with Flossie," replied Mrs. George, in a tone which was enough to remind May that the very last time they had visited their aunt, Flossie had been clever enough to break a beautiful Venetian glass, which was, as Mrs. George had remarked pathetically over the fragments, simply of priceless value.