Their rooms were, of course, on the first floor; such rooms, so furnished, as became such guests. Parcels, opened and unopened, were lying about on the tables and chairs, for they had only as yet been two or three days in London, and, therefore, had only begun to buy things. Tickets for theatres, cards of visitors, invitations to dinner, had already begun to flow in.
A waiter followed them upstairs, bearing a tray on which were cards, envelopes with names, and bits of paper with names. Mrs. Haveril turned them over.
"John," she said, "I do believe these are my cousins. They've found us out pretty soon."
It was, in fact, only the day after the arrivals were put in the papers.
John turned over the cards. "Humph!" he said. "Now, Alice, before these people come, let us make up our minds what we are going to do for them. What brings them? Is it money, or is it love?"
"I'm afraid it's money. Still, when one has been away for five and twenty years, it does seem hard not to see one's cousins again. 'Tisn't as if we came back beggars, John."
"That's just it. If we had, we shouldn't have been in this hotel. And they wouldn't be calling upon us."
"They're all waiting down below."
"Let 'em wait. What are we to do, Alice? They want money. Are you going to give 'em money?"