On Saturday he went to that there Mr Charvill’s house. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. Eh bien, they would see about this. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. Presently her aunt sighed deeply and looked at the clock. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. These and her general preparations had perhaps a certain disproportion. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it.
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