Thursday, four to six
`` Well , and what do you want ? '' `` Hear that , Stratton ? '' said Guest . `` A lady sends you her cards , ` At home , Thursday , four to six ; ' we go to the expense of new lavender kids -- no , come what may , I will be truthful , mine are only freshly cleaned -- and new hats -- no , truth shall prevail ! a gloss over from the hatter 's iron -- drag ourselves all this way west to pay our devoirs -- to drink tea out of thimbles , and eat slices of butter thinly sprinkled with bread crumbs , and the lady says , ` What do you want ? ' '' `` Of course I do . There , sit down , both of you , and , Malcolm Stratton , do n't put on that wicked , melodramatic frown ; it does not become you .