“We have no need of their patronage,” he said, pompously, over his morning paper. “Villa Blanda will cook its own modest Christmas dinner. Ha, ha! I have no notion of sitting down to a coroneted dish containing one skinny fowl.”
“What did you say?” asked Harriet, with an affectation of indifference. “Were you speaking to me?”
“My dear, I said we should not accept.”
Harriet, who had been trying to make up her mind, was glad of this timely assistance.
“And why not?” she questioned, sharply. “Of course we shall go. What excuse would you give?” She did not wait for his answer. “I don’t intend to have Ursula saying I’m afraid of her, or ashamed, because of the money and marrying you. No, indeed; we shall certainly go. Johan must hurry round to the dress-maker’s immediately.” She stroked her pretty morning-gown. Her dress-maker now was the one who had employed Mademoiselle Adeline.
“Dress-maker!” said Mopius, sharply. “Nonsense, Harriet; you have more dresses already than my first wife wore out in all her life.”
“I am going to have two new evening-frocks,” replied Harriet, ignoring the reference. “I have no good dinner things. They will have to sit up all night to get them ready.” She smiled pleasantly at her own importance.
“We’re not going,” said Mopius, settling his bull neck into his shiny collar.
She looked across at him quickly, and again she smiled.