It was a little family dinner--the Olivers, Mr.
Padget, the rector of Arden, who was to assist cheery Matthew Oliver in
tying the fatal knot, and Mr. and Miss Granger--a pleasant little party of
seven, for whom Mr. Lovel's cook had prepared quite a model dinner. She
had acquired a specialty for about half-a-dozen dishes which her master
affected, and in the preparation of these could take her stand against the
pampered matron who ruled Mr. Granger's kitchen at a stipend of seventy
guineas a year, and whose subordinate and assistant had serious thoughts
of launching herself forth upon the world as a professed cook, by
advertisement in the _Times_--"clear soups, entrees, ices, &c."
The wedding was to be a very quiet one. Mr. Lovel had expressed a strong
desire that it should be so; and Mr. Granger's wishes in no way clashed
with those of his father-in-law.
"I am a man of fallen fortunes," said Mr. Lovel, "and all Yorkshire knows
my history. Anything like pomp or publicity would be out of place in the
marriage of my daughter. When she is your wife it will be different. Her
position will be a very fine one; for she will have some of the oldest
blood in the county, supported by abundance of money. The Lycians used to
take their names from their mothers. I think, if you have a son. Granger,
you ought to call him Lovel."
"I should be proud to do so," answered Mr. Granger.
Pages:
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361