“No, thank you, papa.”
Ditto, ditto, for Marie, Antoinette, and Hortense.
“Hendriek doesn’t take any wine?”
“Oh! no, papa.”
“And my Lijsje?”
“Oh! it would be dreadful, papa!”
Mijnheer Van Arlen, having gone through this ceremony, half-filled his glass, filled it up with water, and then carefully corked the bottle, to be put away for to-morrow. In this way it would be made to last ten days, and as a rule it did so; for the above invitation to his wife and seven daughters was renewed every day, and every day regularly declined. However, there were some exceptions to this rule: in the first place, when papa was on a journey. Every year papa had to take a journey for the Minister; it was a mission of mysterious importance, whose destination no one was to know. It always came off quite unexpectedly, immediately after the receipt of his second quarter’s salary. On these occasions the bottle, if it still contained any wine, was emptied by the family, and papa’s own particular tumbler—a most precious one, of ruby glass, with a flower-pattern, and the initials H. M. engraved on it—put away in the china-cupboard for the space of ten days. For this unexpected, mysterious, and important journey always lasted exactly ten days, during which time the daughters enjoyed the mild joke of calling their mother “Madame Veuve,” and were solemnly requested by her not to do it, for, as she said, it was a sort of joke that always sent a cold shudder through her. She preferred being called “little bride,” which took place once a year, on her wedding-day, an occasion which formed the second of the exceptions referred to above. On this occasion papa always provided mamma with the surprise of a glass of port at dinner, and all the seven daughters had some too, though in their hearts they would have preferred not taking it, for they detested it—and it always gave one such a colour in the evening!
The third exception—which was only half a one—occurred when papa had a relation or a friend from out of town on a visit, when mamma would take a glass; and then the bottle had to be finished, for wine only turns flat if it is left standing.
To-day, however, was merely an ordinary day. Papa had received no instructions as to his journey, and the wedding anniversary was some time off; though the friend from out of town was expected, and might arrive any week. He was something more than a friend—he was a late brother-in-law; for Mevrouw Van Arlen—Hortense Muggenhout, as denoted by the initials on the tumbler—had had a younger sister, who had married Heer Van Noost Prigson, a most respectable man, as appears from his double-barrelled name, which was never forgotten, either by himself or the Van Arlen family. Mijnheer Van Noost Prigson had lost his wife not long after the birth of his only son.
Uncle Van Noost Prigson had written to-day he would come; but he was a man of business,—of much business,—and he wrote so quickly that three-fourths of each of his letters were illegible. Fortunately, papa was also a man of business, and in his responsible position was brought into contact with so many matters—cipher, among others—that he was able to read the writing of Uncle Van Noost Prigson, at least the greater part of it. This time, however, the most important part of uncle’s letter was in figures, and he always made his figures very indistinctly. He said he might possibly come on the 3rd (it might also have been the 8th), unless it were the 10th—or (for the figures might equally well have stood for that) the 21st—while at the end of the letter he added, with equal distinctness, that it was to be between the 14th and 16th, for which again one might have read the 24th and 26th. Equally uncertain was the duration of his visit; its purpose, indeed, was explained, and this papa thought fit to keep to himself. It must surely be a matter of importance, thought the eight ladies, for the thought that he—with his vast experience of all sorts of business—should have failed to decipher this part of the letter never entered their heads for a moment.