"It matters enormously."
"One would think you were a reporter," said Felicity.
"I'm not. I'm only a psychologist."
"Same thing," said Felicity.
"Well, anyhow, it's marmalade—so there!" said Vera.
"Oh, how delightful," exclaimed Wilton; "to match his hair, of course. Of course it's his mother's idea though. What a good mother she must be!"
"Oh, here he is, at last. Where are his wings?"
The boy, with his white suit and golden hair and small harp, looked, literally, angelic. There was a murmur of admiration.
"There oughtn't to be a dry eye in the room when he plays Schumann," said Felicity; "and fancy, Savile wouldn't come because he said he would long to kick him, and he was afraid Vera wouldn't like it."
"I rather agree with Vera there," said Bertie.