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Updated: June 10, 2025
On being shown, by an elderly housekeeper with a Berlin wool fringe, into an old-fashioned oval book-room, Lady Enid and the Prophet discovered the astronomer sitting there tete-a-tete with a muffin, which lay on a china plate surrounded by manuscripts, letters, pamphlets, books and blotting-paper.
"My sister marries your father, and, in consequence well! a muffin now and then ain't so very much. We'll forget it, though it is a breach, mind, in counting up afterwards, and two-pences every day's equal to a good big cannonball in the castle-wall at the end of the year. Have you written home?" Dahlia's face showed the bright anguish of unshed tears. "Uncle-oh! speak low. I have been near death.
Jocantha set to work hopefully; she had a long and rather high- pitched discussion with the waitress concerning alleged defects in an altogether blameless muffin, she made loud and plaintive inquiries about the tube service to some impossibly remote suburb, she talked with brilliant insincerity to the tea-shop kitten, and as a last resort she upset a milk-jug and swore at it daintily.
"Dad's got an eleven-o'clock operation, and I'm going to assist," said Jim. "Did you forget that, dear?" Mrs. Toland asked. "It's of no consequence," said Barbara, her voice suddenly thick with tears. Her hand trembled as she reached for a muffin. "Keith, do you want to go down with us to the rehearsal this afternoon?" said Sally amiably to the little guest.
His tea-the second cup already poured out, was cold. He turned towards the muffin, and missed the lost piece at a glance. "Who has been at my muffin?" said he, in a voice that seemed to Sidney like the voice he had always supposed an ogre to possess. "Have you, Master Sidney?" "N n no, sir; indeed, sir!" "Then Tom has. Where is he?" "Gone up stairs for his handkerchief, sir."
Mrs. It was an autumn day, nipping and melancholy, full of the rustle of dying leaves and the faint sound of muffin bells, and Belgrave Square looked sad even to the great female novelist who had written her way into a mansion there. Fog hung about with the policeman on the pavement. The passing motor cars were like shadows. Their stertorous pantings sounded to Mrs.
At her place near here, Bath Easton Villa, she has set up a Roman vase bedecked with myrtle, and into this we drop our bouts-rimes. Mrs. Calliope has a ball every Thursday, when the victors are crowned. T'other day the theme was 'A Buttered Muffin, and her Grace of Northumberland was graciously awarded the prize.
The note itself was quite rational, but the postscript what do you suppose the postscript said? 'I can't think. 'It said, "PS Please excuse my writing to you on a crumpet, as I haven't a muffin!" Edith laughed. 'It's all very well to laugh, but it's a very sad thing. The poor chap is going off his head. I don't know what to do about it. 'He isn't really, Bruce. I know what it is.
"I can't tell you how awfully decent it was of you and Peter," he began finally after regarding a buttered muffin for several minutes as if it were part of the funeral decorations for dead young love. "Asking me out here, just now. Oh I'll write you a charming bread-and-butter letter of course but I wanted to tell you really " He stopped and let the sentence hang with malice aforethought.
"No one, of course, can keep any count of what he says on these occasions," resumed Lord Parham, with a gracious smile. "I hope I talked some sense " "Oh, but why?" said Kitty, looking up, her large fawn's eyes bent on the speaker. "Why?" repeated Lord Parham, suddenly stiffening. "I don't follow you, Lady Kitty." "Anybody can talk sense!" said Kitty, throwing a big bit of muffin at Ponto's nose.
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