“Bloody rubbish if you ask me,” Sir Oswald muttered. “And don’t think I’m going to change out of my old cardigan either. I’m not dressing up for anybody. They can take me as I am.”

“Oswald. It has a hole in the sleeve. You look like a tramp,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “At least put on your tweed jacket.”

As we stood at the gates, feeling cold and silly, it started to snow.

“You see, it is going to be a white Christmas,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said happily. “All your gloom and doom, Oswald, and it will be splendid. Absolutely splendid.”

At last the Bentley was spotted approaching the village. We waved and welcomed them all the way up the drive and Lady Hawse-Gorzley insisted on opening the car door herself.

“What kind of antique automobile do you have here?” The father of the family uncurled himself from the backseat. “Real quaint. I guess you dust it off to fetch guests from the station. Helps to create the right atmosphere, I reckon.”

“This happens to be our only motorcar,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.

“Gee, at home it would be in a museum,” he replied.

The rest of the family climbed out of the motorcar, staring around them as if they had landed on Mars. They consisted of an impossibly tall Mr. Wexler, a blond and very painted Mrs. Wexler, a pouty daughter whom Wexler called Cherie, and a freckled son named Junior.

“I sincerely hope we are not the only guests,” Mr. Wexler complained as he stepped through the front door and looked around. “We were promised a big house party.”

“The other guests are not arriving until tomorrow,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said, “except, of course, our member of the royal family. Lady Georgiana is already here.”

As Bunty had predicted, that changed everything. Mrs. Wexler bobbed an awkward curtsy. Mr. Wexler muttered, “Well, gee whiz. How about that, Mother. Didn’t I promise you a Christmas you’d never forget?”

“Hey, Pa, take a look at those swords on the wall. Are they real?”

“They certainly are, little boy,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley replied, “and they are so sharp that they’d take your hand off.” Junior withdrew his hand hurriedly.

They were shown their rooms. The parents found them quaint and charming, but the daughter, Cherie, commented that they were “real small” compared to the palatial suites they had at home in Muncie, Indiana. Mrs. Wexler suggested her hosts turn up the central heating a few notches and was horrified to find that there was none.

“Well, I guess it’s so darned cold in here because someone left the window open by mistake,” she said and promptly shut it.

“We always sleep with the windows open. Much healthier,” Bunty said with a bright smile.

“Well, little lady, you must be tougher than we are,” Mr. Wexler replied. “We like our rooms nice and warm in the winter, so if you wouldn’t mind making sure there’s a good fire by the time we get ready for bed . . .”