Daddy shoved five and sevenpence under the door with a note to say that a lady in the house was very ill and would I either sing something else, or go in the next street, as that hymn made her nervous, so I chanted (being always anxious to oblige)—
’Beer, beer, glorious beer, Drink till you’re made of it, Don’t be afraid of it, Glorious, glorious beer.’
Another note was pushed under the door then to say that the lady was dead now, and the Bishop thought it would be well for me to sign the pledge (enclosed).
The Bishop took me into dinner. I behaved just like a clergyman’s daughter.
’Sorry,’ said Michael, suddenly dropping his fish fork, ’but I can’t, after all.’
’De’ah me,’ said the Bishop, ’this is most distressing, very.’
’What would your ludship advise,’ said father, looking at me hopelessly, ’you see, I can’t keep her here either, for the sake of the parish.’
’There is a home for Decayed Gentlewomen at Putney,’ the Bishop began; ’I should be very happy if my vote and influence would be of any help, but I doubt’—he continued surveying me solemnly—’whether they would take her. She is so ah—er—um—so _exceedingly_ decayed.’
After dinner the Bishop nodded in the direction of his chaplain and whispered to me,—
So of course I asked it to. Aunt Constance accompanied its impassioned wail.
’If I should die To-night, My friends would look upon my face With tears, And kissing me, lay snow-white flowers against My hair. Keep not your kisses for my cold, Dead face, But let me feel them Now.’ (Unknown author).
Father looked round the congregation with a cold eye. He has views about guests.
’Thank you very much, Mr Williams. Won’t you sing something else?’
And Mr Williams went upstairs to get another.
’Oh,’ sobbed Charlie Foxhill, laying his head down on Ross’s shoulder, ’keep not your kisses for my cold——’
’No one,’ my brother giggled, ’can look upon _your_ face _without_ tears, old thing, but you shall have snow-white flowers all right; here, can you feel them now?’ and he shoved a camellia and several wet carnations down Charlie’s collar, and the Bishop mopped his eyes and remarked in his best Oxford drawl,—
’Such a good chap, really, if he only wouldn’t. Top-hole, very.’
At nine-thirty father said to Michael, ’You can go away now.’