The atmosphere at dinner was not propitious. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. "'Sblood!" cried Jonathan, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with angry wonder, "I've been nicely done here. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. If my Mom found out, she’d kill me. He laughed to hide his uneasiness.
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