"My dear," said Mrs Mallison reproachfully, "I am your mother. When
you have a tiring day before you I am naturally anxious that you should
be fed. They will be busy at the Vicarage. Cold meat and salad. One
could hardly expect more, but you are accustomed to a hot dish. It is
the day for steak, but if papa didn't object we might change. I don't
care for changes as a rule, it upsets the servants, but just for once.--
A chicken now! You like chicken. Just run to the telephone, dear, and
tell Bates to send one up. Good, roasting. Three and six. If papa
doesn't mind."
Not a flicker of expression passed over the Major's face. He was the
Jorkins of the establishment, and knew well that, useful as he might be
for purposes of quotation, he was negligible as a working factor. He
continued resignedly to partake of bacon. Teresa vouchsafed an
appreciative smile.
"We'll have fowl for dinner. Plenty of time when the boy calls. I'm
going out to lunch, Mother. I'd rather. It's part of the fun."
Mrs Mallison sighed. Here was one of the expected trials. A daughter,
unappreciative, preferring to roam abroad, oblivious of the fact that
after a morning's church decorating she would be in possession of a
harvest of small talk which a mother would naturally desire to hear.
Who decorated the lectern; who the finials; who did the windows this
year? The windows were the least coveted post. A mother whose daughter
had been honoured with the east end would naturally feel agreeable
sympathy for the mother of those who wrestled modestly with
window-sills. Then also there were subsidiary interests. Who brought
the Squire's flowers? Did Lady Cassandra drive down? Was the Vicar
tiresome about nails? Exactly what did everyone present say about
Teresa's scheme of colour? The good lady felt it hard that she should
have to wait until evening to satisfy her interest on these thrilling
points. She set her lips and said to herself, "Certainly not! If young
people have no consideration for others, they cannot expect to be
indulged. _Not_ fowl. Roast end of the neck."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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