The
click-clack of egg-beating resounded continuously; and mountains of
sponge-cakes of all shapes and sizes rose under her hands. This would be
the largest, most ambitious party she had ever given--the guests
expected numbered between twenty and thirty, and had, besides, carte
blanche to bring with them anyone who happened to be staying with them--
and it would be a disgrace under which Mary, reared in Mrs. Beamish's
school, could never again have held up her head, had a single article on
her supper-table run short.
In all this she had only such help as her one maidservant could give her
--John had expressly forbidden Jinny the kitchen. True, during the
morning Miss Amelia Ocock, a gentle little elderly body with a harmless
smile and a prominent jaw, who was now an inmate of her father's house,
together with Zara, returned from England and a visitor at the Ocock's--
these two walked over to offer their aid in setting the tables. But Miss
Amelia, fluttery and undecided as a bird, was far too timid to do
herself justice; and Zara spent so long arranging the flowers in the
central epergnes that before she had finished with one of them it was
lunch time.
"I could have done it myself while she was cutting the stalks," Mary
told her husband. "But Zara hasn't really been any good at flowers since
her 'mixed bouquet' took first prize at the Flower Show. Of course,
though, it looks lovely now it's done."
Purdy dropped in during the afternoon and was more useful; he sliced the
crusts off loaf-high mounds of sandwiches, and tested the strength and
flavour of the claret-cup.
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