And in the flesh, as though irresistibly summoned by my incantation, Mrs. Cloudesley Shove blackens the doorway with her widowhood.
“Not a very naice day,” says Mrs. Cloudesley, as she sits down.
“Not at all,” Miss Carruthers heartily agrees. And then, without turning from the beef, without abating for an instant the celerity of her carving, “Fluffy!” she shouts through the increasing din, “don’t giggle like that.”
Politely Mr. Chelifer half raises himself from his chair as Miss Fluffy comes tumbling, on the tail end of her giggle, into the chair next to his. Always the perfect gent.
“I wasn’t giggling, Miss Carruthers,” Fluffy protests. Her smile reveals above the roots of her teeth a line of almost bloodless gums.
“Quite true,” says young Mr. Brimstone, following her less tumultuously from the door and establishing himself in the seat opposite, next to Mrs. Cloudesley. “She wasn’t giggling. She was merely cachinnating.”
Everybody laughs uproariously, even Miss Carruthers, though she does not cease to carve. Mr. Brimstone remains perfectly grave. Behind his rimless pince-nez there is hardly so much as a twinkle. As for Miss Fluffy, she fairly collapses.
“What a horrible man!” she screams through her laughter, as soon as she has breath enough to be articulate. And picking up her bread, she makes as though she were going to throw it across the table in Mr. Brimstone’s face.
Mr. Brimstone holds up a finger. “Now you be careful,” he admonishes. “If you don’t behave, you’ll be put in the corner and sent to bed without your supper.”
There is a renewal of laughter.