"Jasper."
Mrs. Quentyns' first sensation was one of relief.
"It is all right," she exclaimed, looking up at the servant, who was startled at her mistress's pale cheeks. "I thought my little sister, Miss Judy, was worse, but the telegram is from your master, Susan. Tell the boy there is no answer, and send cook to me without a moment's delay."
Susan left the room, and Hilda slipped the telegram into her pocket. She still felt only a sense of relief, and the first faint qualms as to what Jasper would think of her sudden departure had not begun to visit her. A knock was heard at the drawing-room door.
"Come in, come in," said the young mistress. "Oh, cook," exclaimed Hilda, "I have just had a telegram from your master. He is bringing a gentleman home to dine. A rather particular gentleman, and we want a specially nice dinner. I—I forget what I ordered this morning."
The fat cook bestowed a pitying glance upon Hilda.
"The boiled chicken was to be fricasseed, mum," she said, "and you ordered me to open one of the tins of oxtail soup; there were to be apple fritters afterward, and a cheese savory—that is all."
"Yes, yes," said Hilda, putting her hand to her head, "that dinner would have done very well for Mr. Quentyns and me, but we must make some alterations now. You had better run round to the fishmonger's, cook, and go to the butcher's, and order——"
Hilda rushed to her davenport, scribbled some hasty directions on a piece of paper, and handed them to the servant.
"You must go this moment," she said, "it is six o'clock now; and please call at the green-grocer's on your way back, and get a pound of bananas and some Tangerine oranges. I will see that the wine is all right, and speak to Susan about the table while you are out. Run, cook, run, at once—things must look their very best, and be served in the best possible manner for dinner to-night."