"Anyhow, it's always dark at half-past nine," said Norah.
"Not in the morning," said Dennis, who has to be excused for anything foolish he says since he became obsessed with golf.
"Please don't interrupt," I begged. "Gerald is making a speech."
"I was only going to say that we might have a little game of some sort. Norah, what's the latest parlour game from London?"
"Tell your uncle," I urged, "how you amuse yourselves at the Lyceum."
"Do you know 'Hunt the Pencil'?"
"No. What do you do?"
"You collect five pencils; when you've got them, I'll tell you another game."
"Bother these pencil games," said Dennis, taking an imaginary swing with a paper-knife. "I hope it isn't too brainy."
"You'll want to know how to spell," said Norah severely, and she went to the writing-desk for some paper.