My mother shook hands with each in unexceptionable style, repeating his name as I announced it from the bed, and expressing her pleasure at making his acquaintance.
The sight of me propped up on my pillows, somewhat pale still, and as shy as themselves, seemed to impress them a good deal, and added to the funereal character of the entertainment.

A long pause ensued, broken only by the entrance of the maid with the teapot, and Langrish's remark to Trimble that it was a fine day.
Then my mother had the wit to observe that she hoped it would be equally fine on the day of the Sports, and she was so sorry she would miss them, as she understood Mr Sharpe's house was likely to win a good many of the events, and of course her sympathies were entirely that way.
This went down beautifully, and drew from Coxhead the remark,-- "It's a pity Sar--I mean Jones iv .-- is out of it.

He might have got the Quarter-mile." "Are the names down yet ?" I asked.
"Yes.

We stuck them down to-day," said Langrish.
"Any one else in for the Senior Mile ?" "No; only Tempest and Redwood." Another pause--everybody evidently meditating what my mother would like to hear next.
My mother meanwhile moved to the sideboard and began to pour out tea.
"Do you take cream and sugar ?" she said, with a pleasant smile, to Langrish.

How relieved I was she did not call him "Everard" or "dear!" "Yes, please--can I pass round ?" he replied.
It was admirable.