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Did he like the syllabub yesterday, Gifford?" "He couldn't eat it," her nephew answered, "but Willie seemed to enjoy it." "Poor child," cried Miss Deborah, full of sympathy, "I'm glad he had anything to comfort him. But Gifford, do you really feel sure Mr. Denner cannot recover?" "Too sure," replied the young man, with a sigh. "There's no doubt about it, no doubt whatever?"
Indeed my dear Freind, I never remember suffering any vexation equal to what I experienced on last Monday when my sister came running to me in the store-room with her face as White as a Whipt syllabub, and told me that Hervey had been thrown from his Horse, had fractured his Scull and was pronounced by his surgeon to be in the most emminent Danger. "Good God!
After the syllabub there was the garden to see, and a most beautiful garden it was; long and narrow, a straight gravel walk down the middle of it, at the end of the gravel walk there was a green arbour with a bench under it. There were rows of cabbages and radishes, and peas and beans. I was delighted to see them, for I never saw so much as a cabbage growing out of the ground before.
It proved, however, that Sir Kenelm was innocent of all mischief. To the disappointment of the gossips, who were tuned to a spicier anticipation, the note was no more than a recipe of the manner that the Countess was used to mix her syllabub, with instruction that it was the "rosemary a little bruised and the limon-peal that did quicken the taste."
I sorely missed the psalms, without which, to those who have acquired the stern relish, a service lacks its greatest tonic. But my poor efforts seemed well received and the flood of Southern fervour burst forth later on, as we sat around the Vardells' dinner table. I was being initiated into the mystic sweets of "syllabub," a Southern concoction of which my sober Scotch folks had never heard.
"Oh, no, but the sunshine is so strong." "Then you'd better lower the shade. Why, what in the world has happened to my rose geranium? I was just going to pot it for the winter." "I'm sure it isn't hurt, mother. George broke the leaves when he was looking out of the window." "I thought he was going to stay for dinner. Did you make the jelly and syllabub?" "I made it, but he wouldn't stay."
It was said that Mrs Rowland had sat down to table with a face perfectly crimson with anxiety and vexation. To such a temper as hers, what a vexation it must have been! There was a counterpart to this story for Mrs Rowland. She fancied that Mrs Grey's friends, the Andersons, must have looked rather foolish on occasion of their great syllabub party.
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