‘Well, have it your own way, my dear. I like to have the Vicar’s legs under my mahogany. It looks respectable.’
Bella sent out her invitations for that day fortnight, carefully excluding the manufacturing element. She impressed on Mr. Piper that he was to give no accidental invitations. His impulsive hospitality must not be allowed to spoil this particular party, as in Bella’s opinion, at least, it had spoiled previous parties, by the interpolation of ineligible guests.
‘Above all things let there be no Mr. Chumney,’ said Bella, authoritatively.
‘Chumney’s enjoying himself at Whitby,’ replied Mr. Piper, ‘and don’t want to be beholden to you for a dinner; but if you expect me to forget that Chumney’s father was the first man that ever gave me a week’s wages, you’ll find yourself disappointed. I’d take a knife and cut my heart out, if I thought it was capable of such base ingratitude.’
‘You may remember Mr. Chumney’s father as much as you like, but you needn’t always be talking of him, and of the time when you were glad to earn twelve shillings a week,’ remonstrated Bella. ‘There’s no use in harping upon such things.’
‘Yes, there is,’ answered Mr. Piper, ‘it shows that prosperity hasn’t made me proud.’
Mrs. Piper called at the Vicarage next day to ensure the acceptance of her invitation. Mrs. Dulcimer had seen Captain Standish riding by the Vicarage gate, in attendance on Bella’s barouche, and had heard about that ride of his from ever so many people already.
‘I don’t wonder people talk about him,’ said Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘He sits his horse splendidly, and there’s a wonderful style about him. One can see at a glance that he has always mixed in the best society.’
‘I hope you and Mr. Dulcimer can come to meet him on Wednesday week,’ said Bella.
‘Is he really coming to you?’