This delay, at which General Vincent was righteously angry, was occasioned by the Roebucks, who sauntered in with a leisurely air at a quarter-past two; the wife on the best possible terms with herself and her new tailor gown; the husband puffed up at having read his _Times_ before any one else, and loquacious upon the merits of the "crushing reply" made last night by Lord Hatfield at Windermere to "the abominable farrago of lies" in Mr. Henry Wilkes' oration the night before last at Kendal. "I dare say it was a very good speech," said the General, grimly; "but you might have kept it for after luncheon. It would have been less injured by waiting than Mr. Carew's joint; if he's going to give us one." "Are we late?" exclaimed Mrs. Roebuck, who had endured a quarter of an hour's agony in front of her cheval glass before the new tailor bodice could be made to "come to." "Are we really late? How very naughty of us! Please, please don't be angry, good people. We beg everybody's pardon," clasping two tightly gloved hands with a prettily beseeching gesture. "Don't mention it," said the General. "We all like waiting; but if Carew has got a mug cook, I wouldn't give much for the state of her temper at this moment." "We'll send a pretty message to the cook after luncheon, if she has been clever enough not to spoil her dishes." The ladies--Lady Emily and Mrs. Mornington descanting on gardens and glass all the way--went in a bevy to the dining-room, the men following, Mr. Roebuck still quoting Lord Hatfield, and the way in which he had demolished the Radical orator. "The worst of it is he don't make 'em laugh," said Mr. Mornington. "Nobody can make 'em laugh as Wilkes does. Town or country, hodge or mechanic, he knows the length of their foot to a fraction, and knows what will hit them and what will tickle them." The cook was sufficiently "mug" to have been equal to the difficulties of twenty minutes' delay, and the luncheon was admirable--not too many courses, nor too many dishes, but everything perfect after its kind. Nor was the joint--that item dear to elderly gentlemen--forgotten, for after a first course of fish and a second of curry and _crême de volaille_, there appeared a saddle of Wiltshire mutton, to which the elderly gentlemen did ample justice, while the ladies, who had lunched upon the more sophisticated dishes, supplied the greater part of the conversation. "My father will quote your cook for the next six months," said Suzette, by whose side Allan had contrived to place himself during the casual dropping into seats at the large round table, "for yours is the only house where he has seen Bombay ducks served with the curry." "Did you not tell me once that your father has a weakness for those absurd little fish?" "Did I really? Was I capable of talking such absolute twaddle?"