The small waiter then made a pretence of activity, and brought vinegar and salt, and rolls and water.
"The peutates is notta-cooks," said he in deprecation, and we were distressed to postpone the Count for those peutates.

But what else was possible?
The dismaying part was that after luncheon had enabled us to regard a little thing like that with equanimity, my parents abandoned it to me.
Momma said she knew she was missing a great deal, but she really didn't feel equal to entertaining the Count; her back had given out completely.
The Senator wished to attend to his mail.

With the assistance of his letters and telegrams he was beginning to bear up wonderfully, and, as it was just in, I hadn't the heart to interfere.

"You can apologise for us, daughter," said poppa, "and say something polite about our seeing him later.

Don't let him suppose we've gone back on him in any way.