"And what is the trouble then, Audrey?" said Uncle Geoff.
"It isn't exactly a trouble," I said. "It's only that we haven't anything nice for tea. We've plenty of money—it isn't that, but we don't know how to buy anything, for of course we can't go out,"—I felt myself get a little red when I said that,—"and we didn't like to ask Sarah without telling you."
"Quite right," said Uncle Geoff, patting my head. "But what sort of things do you want? Is it to tempt Tom to eat, or what has put it into your heads to want something particularly nice to-day?"
"Oh because—why I thought I had told you at the beginning," I said, "how stupid of me! Why it's because Miss Goldy-hair's coming to have tea with us, to make up for us not going to her, you know."
Uncle Geoff raised his eyebrows.
"Oh ho," he said, "I see! And what is it you want then?"
Two muffins would be exquisite.
"We were thinking," I said gravely, "that six sponge cakes, and six bath-buns, and some of those nice crispy biscuits mother used to have—I think they're German biscuits, they're awfully nice, with a chocolatey taste, mother always sent to London for them—we were thinking that would make a lovely tea. And we've quite enough to pay for that. And oh, Uncle Geoff, if you would tell Mrs. Partridge to toast and butter them, two muffins would be exquisite."