But of course he wouldn't think of _us_."
"But he does, you know. He has. He says that he will have people with him.
That is to prepare us." Mrs. Benson's fist crashed into the paper.
"How many people, Miss Percival? How many people? Why, seven, of course?
What else could it be? And where's the fish to come from for seven people?
And what about maids and valets? Does he count up the likes of them? He's
not Mr. Ingram if he does. Not he! Nor his father before him. And what's
Frodsham going to do about carriage-room for seven--and the servants as
well--and the luggage, and all? Dogs, very likely, dogs and cats, and
parrots. Who knows? I've seen 'em bring scritch-owls and hawks on their
wrists before now. Oh, they'll do anything, some of 'em--anything to be
looked at. That's what it is; they want looking at. And I'd look at 'em if
I had my way!"
Mrs. Benson, shining with indignant heat, had to be pacified. She required
much tact, the exercise of a low and musical voice. It cooed upon her like
a dove's. Miss Percival used her hands, too, and in the end had one of
them on Mrs. Benson's shoulder. The charm worked. Dinner should be cooked
for five or six; Frodsham should meet the seven-four from London with the
omnibus and luggage-cart.
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