“Just so.” The vicar smiled, half amused, half quizzical. “The means at our disposal are distinctly limited. We can’t ask them to dinner, because the staff is incapable of cooking and serving an extensive meal.”
“And there are only three sherry-glasses left, and Mary broke the round glass dish last week—the one I always used for the trifle. And the dinner-service... We really must buy a new dinner-service, Stanford!”
“We really must, Agnes—some time! I think all the objections taken together put the dinner-party out of the question. Would not a somewhat more formal tea—”
“No.” Mrs Thornton shook her head decidedly. “A formal tea is the most depressing function imaginable. If it was a little later on, I would suggest a hay-party. As it is, I am afraid it must be a garden-party, pure and simple.”
The vicar laughed.
“Simple, it certainly would be. Our poor little lawn, one tennis-court, and the flower-garden a mass of weeds! We can’t afford a band of minstrels, or even the ordinary ices and hothouse fruits. I am afraid it might be rather a failure, Agnes.”
But Mrs Thornton refused to be discouraged.
“Nonsense, dear! People don’t expect extravagant entertainments at a vicarage! The children and I can undertake the weeding, and when that is done the dear old herbaceous borders will look charming! The lawn is not big, but there is delightful shade beneath the beech-trees, and we can draw the piano up to the drawing-room window, and get a few people to sing for us—Maud Bailey and Mrs Reed; and I believe Mr Druce has a fine voice. I’ll ask him to be very kind, and give us a song. As for refreshments, I can give good tea and coffee, and the best cream for miles around, and people can exist without ices for once in a way. Given a bright, fine day, I could manage beautifully!”
“I have no doubt you could. But why go through the ceremony of asking my advice, Mistress Thornton, when your mind has been made up from the beginning? Go your ways—go your ways! I wash my hands of all responsibility!” cried the vicar, laughing, as he walked back to his study, leaving his wife to sit down to her desk and make out a lengthy list of guests, which included everyone of note for miles round.
During the days to come Mr Thornton often sympathised with his wife on the amount of work she had undertaken in order to entertain the squire’s guests; but, even to his unobservant eyes, it was apparent that, so far from being exhausted, she throve beneath it, and appeared brighter and younger than for years past. All work and no play has an even more depressing effect upon Jill than on Jack, and Mrs Thornton was by instinct a hospitable creature, who would have loved nothing better than a houseful of guests and a constant succession of entertainments. With small means, a large family, and a straggling parish, her time and energy were for the most part engrossed in sheer hard work, so that the prospect of a little “jollification,” as she laughingly expressed it, came as a welcome variety.