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Gashleigh thought, whose rich uncle had purchased it for the young couple, at Spode and Copeland's; but it was only for twelve persons. It was agreed that it would be, in all respects, cheaper and better to purchase a dozen more dessert-plates; and with "my silver basket in the centre," Mrs.
"Madame, they are to make the stock of the clear soup," Mr. Cavalcadour said. "WHAT!" cried Mrs. Gashleigh; and the cook repeated his former expression. "Never, whilst I am in this house," cried out Mrs.
As if the folks at Fubsby's could not garnish dishes better than Gashleigh, with her stupid old-world devices of laurel-leaves, parsley, and cut turnips! Why, there was not a dish served that day that was not covered over with skewers, on which truffles, crayfish, mushrooms, and forced-meat were impaled.
Gashleigh has never liked him since he left off calling her mamma, and kissing her. But he said he could not stand it any longer he was hanged if he would. So he went away to chambers, leaving the field clear to Rosa, mamma, and the two dear girls.
Gashleigh, who had lived a great part of her life in Devonshire, and kept house in great state there, was famous for making some dishes, without which, she thought, no dinner could be perfect. When she proposed her mock-turtle, and stewed pigeons, and gooseberry-cream, Rosa turned up her nose a pretty little nose it was, by the way, and with a natural turn in that direction.
Gashleigh, "that one soup a fine rich mock-turtle, such as I have seen in the best houses in the West of England, and such as the late Lord Fortyskewer " "You will get what is wanted for the soups, if you please," Mr.
"What is to be done?" she said, with purple accents. "My dearest mamma," Rosa cried out, "you must stop at home how sorry I am!" And she shot one glance at Fitzroy, who shot another at the great Truncheon, who held down his eyes. "We could manage with heighteen," he said, mildly. Mrs. Gashleigh gave a hideous laugh. She went away.
On the great, momentous, stupendous day of the dinner, my beloved female reader may imagine that Fitzroy Timmins was sent about his business at an early hour in the morning, while the women began to make preparations to receive their guests. "There will be no need of your going to Fubsby's," Mrs. Gashleigh said to him, with a look that drove him out of doors.
Gashleigh; and Rosa, in carrying on a conversation with him in the French language which she had acquired perfectly in an elegant finishing establishment in Kensington Square had a great advantage over her mother, who could only pursue the dialogue with very much difficulty, eying one or other interlocutor with an alarmed and suspicious look, and gasping out "We" whenever she thought a proper opportunity arose for the use of that affirmative.
Funnyman, the wag, came last, whirling up rapidly in a hansom, just as Mrs. Gashleigh, with rage in her heart, was counting that two people had failed, and that there were only seventeen after all. Mr. Truncheon passed our names to Mr. Billiter, who bawled them out on the stairs.
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