Mrs. Fenchurch prided herself on her housekeeping, and boasted that she was always prepared for any emergency or visitor--were it the King! Nevertheless she now brought out the best dessert and coffee sets, the precious old family silver, and spent half an hour conferring with the cook. She had set Letty to arrange flowers, put on fresh chintz covers, and feed and incarcerate the dogs. Having issued orders to her husband with respect to the cellar, warned the stable-yard with regard to horses, she changed into her Sunday gown and best rings, saw that Letty wore the new green cloth--and behold all was in readiness. Half-past one o’clock--two--half-past two--and yet Mr. Blagdon never appeared. Mrs. Fenchurch had ceased to cast surreptitious glances at the window, and her husband’s patience was exhausted. Without a word to his wife he rose and boldly dragged at the bell, and to the answering servant uttered one stentorian word, “_Lunch!_” “I’m hanged if I’m going to wait for that fellow any longer,” he announced with the courage of a hungry man. “Just like Blagdon--inviting himself to honour us--you and Letty work like blacks, and he never turns up after all!” “That will do, dear--that will do--don’t get excited,” said his wife, patting his arm. She was secretly furious with Blagdon. “He has made some mistake; however, there is capital mulligatawny, and now we will go and enjoy it ourselves.” The housekeeper’s boast was well founded; her husband and niece thoroughly appreciated the good things intended for a non-arrival--indeed, Letty’s appetite was whetted by a sense of intense relief, but Mrs. Fen scarcely touched a morsel, being herself devoured by cruel misgivings. The following afternoon as they sat at table, a smart yellow-wheeled Stanhope dashed up to the door with much crunching and spattering of gravel. It was driven by the belated Blagdon! Colonel Fenchurch with a muttered oath, cast his serviette on the floor, and hurried into the hall to welcome the unexpected guest. Meanwhile, Mrs. Fenchurch rang the bell distractedly, gave orders for the ham (luckily uncut), grapes, Burgundy, and to make coffee at once; then, turning to Letty, she surveyed her with dismay. “And you in your old school frock! Oh, it’s simply maddening, and I believe the drawing-room fire is out. Here, get up quickly, and sit at this side with your back to the light, and perhaps your old serge won’t show.” Blagdon now entered, suave and well groomed, full of apologies and easy talk. To himself he remarked, that Fenchurch was a stiff-necked ceremonious old beggar, but he knew that Mrs. Fen was _his_ friend! He had proposed himself as a visitor, partly to discover what sort of people the Fenchurchs were when at home, and also to see how the land lay, and if the girl was really as pretty as his memory had painted.