Miss Bettina Davenal was at hand, waiting for her greeting. In the old days of his boyhood, she and he were undisguised enemies. The boy was high-spirited and rude to her, ten times worse than poor Richard: he had been the first to call her Aunt Bett, and to persist in it, in spite of her angry displeasure. He called it her still.
"Well, Aunt Bett! You are looking younger than ever."
"Are you quite well, Nephew Edward?"
"In high feather, aunt. And mean to keep so until the wedding's over. When is yours to be, Aunt Bett?"
"Tomorrow at eleven," was Aunt Bett's unconscious answer. "And right glad I shall be when it has taken place."
The shout of laughter vexed Miss Davenal; she wondered what the mistake was. But the captain turned away, for Caroline was stealing towards them with conscious cheeks, and the new silver teapot in her hand.
"It was unkind of you not to come before, Edward," she said. "Some of my beautiful new dresses are packed up now, and you can't see them."
"I shan't die of the disappointment, Carry," was the ungallant rejoinder of the captain. "What's that you are carrying? A trophy?"
"It's a teapot. It is part of Lady Oswald's present. Her's is the best of all, and I have had so many. Come and look at them: they are laid out in the garden-room."
"So many teapots?" inquired the captain.