"Don't go, Sylvia," said her father mildly. She stopped. Sylvia was the only person with whom Sir James was never peremptory.
"What has become," he said, a little nervously, though with his usual formality, "of that very sumptuous basket of flowers Mr. Ridokanaki was so kind as to send you?"
"It's in the housekeeper's room, papa." Sylvia's voice to-day was very sweet and high; a sign to those who knew her of some perturbation or cussedness, as Savile used to say.
"Hum! There must be several floral offerings there. To the best of my belief—correct me if I am mistaken—four arrived last week."
"Oh yes, there are heaps, papa! It's a perfect garden of flowers."
"So I suppose.... Will you have them brought up to the drawing-room at once!—or, when convenient, darling?"
"No, papa. Several are rather faded."
Sir James paused, then with an attempt at calm determination said, with finality—
"If any more arrive, will you recollect, my dear, that I wish them to be placed in the drawing-room?"
"Oh, I don't like so many flowers in the drawing-room, papa. But, if you like, I might send them on to one of the hospitals. Perhaps the 'Home of Rest for Chows and Poodles' might——"