“Quite sure.”
“Well, I think I ought to dress. It would look so queer if some one turned up.”
“If any one does, I promise you I’ll fly.”
They went in to dinner, Edward feeling very uncomfortable, and keeping his ear alert for the front-door bell. They ate their soup, and then were set on the table—the remains of a cold leg of mutton and mashed potatoes. Bertha looked for a moment blankly, and then, leaning back, burst into peal upon peal of laughter.
“Good Lord, what is the matter now?” asked Edward.
Nothing is more annoying than to have people violently hilarious over a joke that you cannot see.
Bertha held her sides and tried to speak.
“I’ve just remembered that I told the servants they might go out to-night, there’s a circus at Blackstable; and I said we’d just eat up the odds and ends.”
“I don’t see any joke in that.”
And really there was none, but Bertha laughed again immoderately.