"I'm sorry, Simpson, but the fact that you're moving from the Temple to Cricklewood, or wherever it is, and that somebody else is paying the thirty pounds a year, is jolly interesting, but it wasn't good enough to drag us up from the country to tell us about it. You could have written. However, thank you for the cigar."
"My dear fellow, it isn't Cricklewood. It's the Riviera!"
Archie sat down again.
"Samuel!" cried Myra. "How she must love you!"
"I should never lend Simpson a villa of mine," I said. "He'd only lose it."
"They're some very old friends who live there, and they're going away for a month, and the servants are staying on, and they suggested that if I was going abroad again this year—"
"How did the servants know you'd been abroad last year?" asked Archie.
"Don't interrupt, dear," said Dahlia. "I see what he means. How very jolly for you, Samuel."
"For all of us, Dahlia!"
"You aren't suggesting we shall all crowd in?" growled Thomas.