"Here she is. Dahlia, for Heaven's sake come and tell us the arrangements for the day. Start with the idea fixed in your mind that Myra and I have ordered lunch for six."
Dahlia shepherded us to a quiet corner of the lounge and we all sat down.
"By the way," said Simpson, "are there any letters for me?"
"No; it's your turn to write," said Archie.
"But, my dear chap, there must be one, because——"
"But you never acknowledged the bed-socks," I pointed out. "She can't write till you—— I mean, it was rather forward of her to send them at all; and if you haven't even——"
"Well," said Dahlia, "what does anybody want to do?"
Thomas was the first to answer the question. A girl in red came in from the breakfast-room and sat down near us. She looked up in our direction and met Thomas's eye.
"Good morning," said Thomas, with a smile, and he left us and moved across to her.
"That's the girl he danced with all last night," whispered Myra. "I can't think what's come over him. Is this our reserved Thomas—Thomas the taciturn, whom we know and love so well? I don't like the way she does her hair."