'Tea, then?'

'Not substantial enough.'

'High tea, then? There is cold fowl, rabbit-pie, some pasties, and
things of that kind.'

'Yes, high tea.'

'Must I pour out his tea, papa?'

'Of course; you are the mistress of the house.'

'What! sit there all the time with a stranger, just as if I knew
him, and not anybody to introduce us?'

'Nonsense, child, about introducing; you know better than that. A
practical professional man, tired and hungry, who has been
travelling ever since daylight this morning, will hardly be
inclined to talk and air courtesies to-night. He wants food and
shelter, and you must see that he has it, simply because I am
suddenly laid up and cannot. There is nothing so dreadful in
that, I hope? You get all kinds of stuff into your head from
reading so many of those novels.'

'Oh no; there is nothing dreadful in it when it becomes plainly a
case of necessity like this. But, you see, you are always there
when people come to dinner, even if we know them; and this is some
strange London man of the world, who will think it odd, perhaps.'