'I believe they're going to have games after dinner,' said Bruce. 'All very jolly—musical crambo—that sort of thing…. What shall you wear, Edith?'
'Mother, do let me have your long buttonhook. I want it. It isn't for my boots.'
'Certainly not. What a nuisance you are! Do go away…. I think I shall wear my salmon-coloured dress with the sort of mayonnaise- coloured sash…. (No, you're not to have it, Archie).'
'But, Mother, I've got it…. I can soon mend it, Mother.'
On Sunday evening Bruce's high spirits seemed to flag; he had one of his sudden reactions. He looked at everything on its dark side.
'What on earth's that thing in your hair, Edith?'
'It's a bandeau.'
'I don't like it. Your hair looks very nice without it. What on earth did you get it for?'
'For about six-and-eleven, I think.'
'Don't be trivial, Edith. We shall be late. Ah! It really does seem rather a pity, the very first time one dines with people like the Mitchells.'