Miss Carew apparently divines the faintness of her friend’s sympathy, for she changes the subject.
“I sent the spoons and forks this morning! Have you enough now?”
“Plenty.”
“Do you want any knives?”
“Bless your heart, no! Mrs. Prince has lent enough to cut the throats of the whole township.”
“And how about fruit? There are still a good many white currants under the nets on the north wall.”
“Currants!” repeats Mrs. Darcy, with affected scorn. “If you could see the size of the grapes that arrived, personally conducted by Féodorovna, just as we were sitting down to dinner last night, you would blush for such a suggestion.”
“I withdraw it,” replies the other, with a slight grave smile; adding, “One laughs at them, but they really are wonderfully kind.”
“This was not a case of undiluted kindness,” says the rector’s wife, with her light and stingless sarcasm. “The grapes were but incidental; the real object of her visit—I wish she would not pay morning calls just as the soup tureen is entering the dining-room—was to ask for an invitation for to-day for her organist.”
“And you gave it?”