“Don’t wait for Stella, she’s always late,” said Somers, helping his son
from the dish before him; but at this moment Stella, rustling in a
coloured dress, came briskly in.
“Oh, I say, Kate, let me have my proper place,” she said; “you can’t sit
down with Charlie opposite, it’s not decent. And oh the funny old room!
Did you ever see such a rococo house, Charlie, all gilding and ornament?
Poor papa could never have anything grand enough according to his views.
We must have it all pulled to pieces, I couldn’t live in such a place.
Eh? why, Kate, you don’t pretend you like it, you who always made a
fuss.”
Katherine had transferred herself to a seat at the side of the table,
not without a quick sensation of self-reproach and that inevitable shame
upon being thus compelled to take a lower place which no philosophy can
get rid of. “I did not think where I was sitting,” she cried, in
instinctive apology; and then, “Let the poor house be, at least for the
first week, Stella,” she said.
“Oh, that’s all sentiment and nonsense,” cried Lady Somers. “My
experience is when you’re going to change a thing, do it directly; or
else you just settle down and grow accustomed and think no more of it.
For goodness’ sake, Charlie, don’t stuff that child with all the most
improper things! He ought to have roast mutton and rice pudding, all the
doctors say; and you are ruining his constitution, you know you are.
Why isn’t there some roast mutton, William? Oh, Harrison! why can’t you
see that there’s some roast mutton or that sort of thing, when you’ve
got to feed a little boy.”
“Me don’t like roast mutton,” cried Job, with a whine. “Me dine wid
fader; fader give Job nice tings.”
“I’ll look after you, my boy,” said Sir Charles, at one end of the
table, while Harrison at the other, with a very solemn bow, discussed
his position.
“It is not my place to horder the dinner, my lady; if your ladyship will
say what you requires, I will mention it to Mrs. Simmons.”
“It is I who am in fault, I suppose, Stella,” cried Katherine, more
angry than she could have imagined possible. “Perhaps you will see
Simmons yourself to-morrow.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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