We were hardly seated when we heard the cry of a young child; she left the table hastily, to come back in a moment with an apology, which she made to Cousin Charles rather than to us.

I had never seen a table so well arranged, so fastidiously neat; it glittered with glass and French china.

Cousin Charles sent away a glass and a plate, frowning at the girl who waited; there must have been a speck or a flaw in them.

The viands were as pretty as the dishes, the lamb chops were fragile; the bread was delicious, but cut in transparent slices, and the butter pat was nearly stamped through with its bouquet of flowers.

This was all the feast except sponge cake, which felt like muslin in the fingers; I could have squeezed the whole of it into my mouth.