"Nonsense! Church, of course!" rumbled the Mixer very arbitrarily.
"Quite so, then," assented his lordship. "Get me the rector of the
parish--a vicar, a curate, something of that sort."
"Then the breakfast and reception," suggested Mrs. Effie with a
meaning glance at me before she turned to the lady. "Of course,
dearest, your own tiny nest would never hold your host of friends----"
"I've never noticed," said the other quickly. "It's always seemed big
enough," she added in pensive tones and with downcast eyes.
"Oh, not large enough by half," put in Belknap-Jackson, "Most charming
little home-nook but worlds too small for all your well-wishers." With
a glance at me he narrowed his eyes in friendly calculation. "I'm
somewhat puzzled myself--Suppose we see what the capable Ruggles has
to suggest."
"Let Ruggles suggest something by all means!" cried Mrs. Effie.
I mean to say, they both quite thought they knew what I would suggest,
but it was nothing of the sort. The situation had entirely changed.
Quite another sort of thing it was. Quickly I resolved to fling them
both aside. I, too, would be a dead sportsman.
"I was about to suggest," I remarked, "that my place here is the only
one at all suitable for the breakfast and reception.
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