“It wasn’t a game: it was a proper tableau: we had a curtain and all that sort of thing. They said I made a capital vulture. I pecked at Mrs. Pickering. It was a great success.”
“Dear me! Was it indeed? Well, if this lady’s coming, you’d better go and wash your hands,” said Lady Kellynch, who felt a disposition to snub Clifford on the subject.
“Of course I will! I say, mother, what cakes have you got?”
“Really, Clifford, I think you can leave that to me.”
“They have jolly little foie gras sandwiches at the Pickerings.”
“I daresay they have.”
“Can I go and tell cook to make some?”
“Most certainly not, Clifford!” cried the indignant mother.
“But if there aren’t any, she might miss them,” said Clifford.
“She will probably enjoy the change.”