with what she could get when what she liked was not
procurable. And it was seldom that she had been set down to so languid a
feast as the present. On former occasions a great deal more had been
going on, except the last year, which was that of the baby's birth, on
which occasion Lucy was, of course, out of the way of entertainment
altogether. Lady Randolph had, indeed, found her visits to the Hall
amusing, which was delightful, seeing they were duty visits as well. She
had stayed only a day or two at that time--just long enough to kiss the
baby and talk for half an hour at a time, on two or three distinct
opportunities, to the young mother in very subdued and caressing tones.
And she had been glad to get away again when she had performed this
duty, but yet did not grudge in the least the sacrifice she had made for
her family. The case, however, was quite different now: there was no
reason in the world why they should be quiet. The baby was
delicate!--could there be a more absurd reason for closing your house to
your friends, putting off your Christmas visits, entertaining not at
all, ignoring altogether the natural expectations of the county, which
did not elect a man to be its member in order that he might shut himself
up and superintend his nursery? It was ridiculous, his aunt felt; it
went to her nerves, and made her quite uncomfortable, to see all the
resources of the house, with which she was so well acquainted, wasted
upon four people. It was preposterous--an excellent cook, the best cook
almost she had ever come across, and only four to dine! People have
different ideas of what waste is--there are some who consider all large
expenditure, especially in the entertainment of guests, to be subject to
this censure. But Lady Randolph took a completely different view. The
wickedness of having such a cook and only a family party of four persons
to dine was that which offended her. It was scandalous, it was wicked.
If Lucy meant to live in this way let her return to her bourgeois
existence, and the small vulgar life in Farafield. It was ridiculous
living the life of a nobody here, and in Sir Tom's case was plainly
suicidal. How was he to hold up his face at another election, with the
consciousness that he had done nothing at all for his county, not even
given them a ball, nor so much as a magic lantern, she repeated,
bursting with a reprobation which could scarcely find words?

All this went through her mind with double fo