“Here is papa’s letter-case with all the introductions. Let us look them over and imagine what sort of people they will be. First of all and foremost,” said Grace, “Lord Conway; that is our Minister. He was once at our house—don’t you remember, Milly? years and years ago, when he was the Honourable Mr Something-or-other; at least I have heard mamma say so——”
“Mamma would be sure to say Something-or-other. Of course he will come directly and call——”
“And ask us to go and stay there,” added Grace seriously, “which would be grander than a hotel; but then one would not be so free to go out and in. I think I will advise papa not to go, or to go only for two or three days, to see how noble people live. To be sure,” she added, “if he is not married—I wonder if he is married?—he could not ask us; unless he has a mother, or sister, or something, to keep his house.”
“He is sure to be married,” said Milly, “if it is so long since he was in Canada—longer than we can recollect; and a Minister too: he must be quite old!”
“On the contrary, the Minister for the Colonies is often quite young, I believe,” said Grace. What she founded this opinion upon we are unable to state, but it was Grace’s peculiarity that she liked to be wiser than her neighbours. “Put Lord Conway on one side. Now there is Sir John Didcot. He is married; there is not any doubt about that. Don’t you remember him, Milly?—a fat man who had to do with railways. He was dreadfully rich. I should think very likely they live in the country, and would ask us for—Easter, or that sort of thing. Everybody in London goes out of town for Easter. There are several national solemnities of that kind, you know,” said Grace half satirically, half complacently. “Easter, and the Derby-day, and the 12th of August, and a few more.”
“What do people do on the 12th of August? But we shall be back home,” said Milly, “before that, shan’t we? How nice it will be to get back home. I shall make papa buy loads of presents—presents for everybody. I was thinking only to-day what Lenny would like, and old John.”
“It is rather too soon to think of presents for home, considering we only arrived yesterday,” said Grace: and then she, too, breathed a small sigh, thinking of the bright room at home with all the boys laughing and questioning, and the tables covered with the presents they would carry back, and the baby, the darling of the whole house, seated triumphant in the midst of them, the fairy distributor of all these riches. Though it had been such a great thing to come to England—though it was such an ecstasy to be in England—yet, after all, home was a different matter. She gave a glance round this inn parlour, and smothered another little sigh.
“I suppose we shall have to go to the Didcots,” she said, “sooner or later. Oh, after that here is something delightful! Mr Rivers, the author—you know. Of course, he will ask all the best people to meet papa. That will be far the most interesting of all. Fancy, perhaps we shall see Tennyson!” Grace raised a pair of great brown eyes opened wide with awe and rapture. “I wonder how one ought to behave one’s self to a great poet. I should like to go down on my knees and kiss his hand.”
“Ladies never go down on their knees—except to the Queen,” said Milly, rousing up. “I wonder if we shall be asked to Windsor Castle or Buckingham Palace, or any of those places! It would be nice to know the princesses, don’t you think?”
“We ought to be,” said Grace sedately, “for papa had so much to do for the Prince of Wales. Oh!” cried the loyal colonial maiden, clasping her hands, “do you think the Princess will ask us, Milly? He will tell her, of course, who we are. That beautiful, beautiful creature! I don’t know which of the two would be most delightful—the Princess or Tennyson. One would have to call him Lord Tennyson, as if he were nobody, a common peer,” she added with a plaintive tone; “but to the Princess one would say Madam, or Your Royal Highness.”