Anthony arrived a little late, since the picking of the violets had
taken longer than he anticipated, and as there was no one to open the
front door, walked straight into the dining-room. In the doorway
he collided with the little maid-of-all-work, a red-elbowed girl of
singularly plain appearance, who having deposited the beef upon the
table, was rushing back for the duck, accompanied by two of the young
Walronds who were assisting with the vegetables. The maid, recoiling,
sat down with a bump on one of the wooden chairs, and the Walrond girls,
a merry, good-looking, unkempt crew (no boy had put in an appearance
in all that family), burst into screams of laughter. Anthony apologised
profusely; the maid, ejaculating that she didn't mind, not she, jumped
up and ran for the duck; and the Reverend Septimus, a very different
Septimus to him whom we met a month or so before, seizing his hand,
shook it warmly, calling out:
"Julia, my dear, never mind that beef. I haven't said grace yet. Here's
Anthony."
"Glad to see him, I am sure," said Mrs. Walrond, her eyes still fixed
upon the beef, which was obviously burnt at one corner. Then with a
shrug, for she was accustomed to such accidents, she rose to greet him.
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