Caroline knew the servants had just devoured the last morsel of cold meat; she saw the look of blank dismay with which her father’s order was received by John, and she sat uneasily in her chair, wondering what would happen. She could not leave the room, it would look so odd; and she scarcely knew whether to rejoice, or to grieve, when she saw her father depart, ostensibly in search of a pamphlet on the times, which he particularly recommended to Lord Besville’s perusal, but in fact, as Caroline believed, to take some energetic measures upon the subject of luncheon. She dreaded his coming to the knowledge of the unprovided state of the larder, and, on the other hand, she equally dreaded having her housekeeping brought to utter shame before strangers. Poor Caroline! she was not by nature a manager. She was meek and gentle, and, perhaps, if she had not been frightened, might have succeeded as well as her neighbours, but she always felt she should do wrong, and never ventured to do right. There is a certain portion of decision necessary even in the ordering of dinner, and choosing between a leg of mutton and a shoulder. Captain Wareham, after a small delay, returned with the pamphlet, and he conversed with fluency and eagerness upon its contents. Ellen, meanwhile, had become tolerably intimate with Lady Harriet, who was also to make her first appearance at the approaching ball; and Caroline listened with a face expressive of much interest to the discussion upon the fates of nations, while she secretly revolved in her mind what would be the cook’s resource in this unforeseen exigency. The half-hour which thus elapsed seemed to her interminable; she thought Lady Besville would be quite tired of waiting, and she saw her begin to fidget on her chair, and to look towards the window. At this critical juncture Caroline heard the jingle of one glass against another, as John mounted the stairs. This delightful promise of a forthcoming repast of some sort or another, was to her ears as the horn of a German post-boy, when he approaches the town, to the benighted traveller, or as the tinkling of the camel-bells of a caravan to a solitary pilgrim in the desert. The door opened—the tray entered—Caroline cast a trembling, furtive glance: to her delight and astonishment, she beheld a tongue, a fowl, a dish of puffs, some cakes, some fruit, and wine. She breathed more freely, and performed her part of hostess with ease and quietness. The Besvilles did ample justice to the meal, and departed impressed with the comfortable and respectable manner in which Captain Wareham lived, the good-breeding of Caroline, and the good-humour and liveliness of her father.