“That's nineteen,” Mr. Truncheon remarked. “We must knock another hoff, Ma'm.” And he looked her hard in the face.
Mrs. Gashleigh was very red and nervous, and paced, or rather squeezed round the table (it was as much as she could do). The chairs could not be put any closer than they were. It was impossible, unless the convive sat as a centre-piece in the middle, to put another guest at that table.
“Look at that lady movin' round, sir. You see now the difficklty. If my men wasn't thinner, they couldn't hoperate at all,” Mr. Truncheon observed, who seemed to have a spite to Mrs. Gashleigh.
“What is to be done?” she said, with purple accents.
“My dearest mamma,” Rosa cried out, “you must stop at home—how sorry I am!” And she shot one glance at Fitzroy, who shot another at the great Truncheon, who held down his eyes. “We could manage with heighteen,” he said, mildly.
Mrs. Gashleigh gave a hideous laugh.
She went away. At eight o'clock she was pacing at the corner of the street, and actually saw the company arrive. First came the Topham Sawyers, in their light-blue carriage with the white hammercloth and blue and white ribbons—their footmen drove the house down with the knocking.
Then followed the ponderous and snuff-colored vehicle, with faded gilt wheels and brass earl's coronets all over it, the conveyance of the House of Bungay. The Countess of Bungay and daughter stepped out of the carriage. The fourteenth Earl of Bungay couldn't come.
Sir Thomas and Lady Gulpin's fly made its appearance, from which issued the General with his star, and Lady Gulpin in yellow satin. The Rowdys' brougham followed next; after which Mrs. Butt's handsome equipage drove up.