much!"

She gazed at him enviously.

"You _are_ lucky! I expect you'll have a lovely supper--not rice
mould," bitterly.

"Rather!" said William with an air of superiority.

"What are you going to have to eat at your party?"

"Oh--everything," said William vaguely.

"Cream blanc-mange?"

"Heaps of it--_buckets_ of it."

The little girl next door clasped her hands.

"Oh, just think of it! Your eating cream blanc-mange and me
eating--_rice-mould_!" (It is impossible to convey in print the
intense scorn and hatred which the little girl next door could
compress into the two syllables.)

Here an idea struck William.

"What time do you have supper?"

"Seven."