From the grocer’s they drove to the confectioner’s, and there Laura ordered such a supply of plum cake and buns, muffins and tea cakes, all to be delivered at the Manor House on Christmas Eve, that Celia began to be seriously alarmed for her friend’s sanity.
‘What can you want with all that indigestible rubbish?’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you going to open a pastrycook’s shop?’
‘No, dear. These things are for my juvenile party.’
‘A juvenile party—already! I can’t understand your motive, unless it is to get your hand in for the future. Who are you going to have? All Lady Parker’s nursery, of course—and Lady Barker’s grandchildren, and Mrs. Pendarvis’s seven boys, the Briggses, and the Dropmores, and the Seymours. You’ll want dissolving views, and a conjuror; and you might have tableaux vivants, as you don’t seem to care how much money you waste. People expect so much at juvenile parties now-a-days.’
‘I think my guests will be quite happy without tableaux vivants, or even a conjuror.’
‘I doubt it. Those little Barkers are intensely old for their age.’
‘The little Barkers are not coming to my party.’
‘And the Pendarvis boys give themselves as many airs as undergraduates after their first term.’
‘But I have not invited the Pendarvis boys.’
‘Then what children, in goodness’ name, are to eat all those cakes?’ cried Celia.