“Oh, Harry,” exclaimed Maimie, in dismay, “on Sunday evening?”
“He can't get off any other night; works all night, I believe, and would work all Sunday, too, if his principles didn't mercifully interfere. He will be boss of the concern before summer is over.”
“Oh, Harry,” said Maimie, in distress, “and I asked Lieutenant De Lacy and his friend, Mr. Sims, for Sunday evening—”
“Sims,” cried Harry; “little cad!”
“I'm sure he's very nice,” said Maimie, “and his family—”
“Oh, hold up; don't get on to your ancestor worship,” cried Harry, impatiently. “Anyway, Ranald's coming up Sunday evening.”
“Well, it will be very awkward,” said Maimie.
“I don't see why,” said Kate.
“Oh,” cried Harry, scornfully, “he will have on his red flannel shirt and a silk handkerchief, and his trousers will be in his boots; that's what Maimie is thinking of!”
“You are very rude, Harry,” said Maimie. “You know quite well that Ranald will not enjoy himself with the others. He has nothing in common with them.”