England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Love stories; Marriage -- Fiction
Stiffy, obliging as ever, rose at once; Ally, cumbered by that majesty
which doth hedge a sixth-form boy and a member of the school Fifteen
(especially when ordered about by a female), was more deliberate in
his acquiescence. However, presently both the boys were gone, and
five minutes later Daphne, with the assistance of the one little maid
whom the establishment supported, had laid the Rector's supper. She
installed her father in his seat on one side of the table, and took
her own on the other, assisting the progress of the meal from time to
time, but for the most part sitting with her chin resting upon her two
fists, and contemplating the tired man before her with serious brown
eyes. Twice she had to leave her seat, once to remove the butter from
the vicinity of her parent's elbow, and once to frustrate an attempt
on the part of that excellent but absent-minded man to sprinkle sugar
over a lettuce.
"Well, my daughter," remarked the Rector presently, "what of the
weekly report?"
Saturday night at the Rectory was reserved for a sort of domestic
budget.
"Here are the books," said Daphne. "They're much as usual, except that
I had to pay two bob on Wednesday for a bottle of embrocation for
Ally. He is in training for the mile in the sports at the beginning of
next term, and it does his muscles so much good."
"When I won the mile at Fenner's, Daphne," began the Reverend Brian,
with a sudden glow of reminiscence in his dreamy eyes, "I did it
without embrocation, or any other new-fashioned----"
"Yes, dear, but they have to run so much _faster_ now than they did,"
explained Daphne soothingly. "Then, about the kitchen chimney----"
"But I only took four minutes, twenty-eight----"
"Yes, old man, and I'm _proud_ of you!" said Daphne swiftly. "Well,
the sweep is coming in on Wednesday, when you'll be away at Wilford,
so _that's_ all right." She was anxious to get away from the question
of the embrocation. It had been a rank extravagance, and she knew it;
but Ally was ever her weak spot. "Then, I've got three-and-nine in
hand out of current expenses just now, and if I take two half-crowns
out of the emergency bag and we go without a second joint this week, I
can get Nicky a new pair of boots, if you don't mind. (Don't cut the
cheese with a spoon, dear; take this knife.) Of course, we ought not
to have to go to the emergency bag for boots at all. It's rather
upsetting. To-day I find that a perfectly ducky pair of Sunday shoes,
which I outgrew just before I stopped growing, and was keeping
specially for that child, are too small for her by yards. (I had tried
them on Cilly a year ago, but she simply couldn't get her toe in.) And
now they'll be wasted, because there are no more of us girls. My feet
are _most_ exasperating."
"Your mother had tiny feet," said the Rector, half to himself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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