Levison; "but a gentleman dined with papa to-day, and it made us rather
longer at table."

"You are twenty-five minutes behind your time," cried the old lady
sharply, "and I want my tea. Emma, order it in."

Mrs. Vane rang the bell, and did as she was bid. She was a little woman
of six-and-twenty, very plain in face, but elegant in figure, very
accomplished, and vain to her fingers' ends. Her mother, who was dead,
had been Mrs. Levison's daughter, and her husband, Raymond Vane, was
presumptive heir to the earldom of Mount Severn.

"Won't you take that tippet off, child?" asked Mrs. Levison, who knew
nothing of the new-fashioned names for such articles, mantles, burnous,
and all the string of them; and Isabel threw it off and sat down by her.

"The tea is not made, grandmamma!" exclaimed Mrs. Vane, in an accent of
astonishment, as the servant appeared with the tray and the silver urn.
"You surely do not have it made in the room."

"Where should I have it made?" inquired Mrs. Levison.

"It is much more convenient to have it brought in, ready made," said
Mrs. Vane. "I dislike the _embarass_ of making it."

"Indeed!" was the reply of the old lady; "and get it slopped over in the
saucers, and as cold as milk! You always were lazy, Emma--and given to
use those French words. I'd rather stick a printed label on my forehead,
for my part, 'I speak French,' and let the world know it in that way."