Wondering, he pushed back his chair and arose obediently.
"Turn your head a little more to the right," Charity ordered. "There, that's it! Now try to look as if there were something all ready to spring at you from that corner over there."
For one angry moment he thought that she had been told of what had happened the night before and was baiting him, as the others had done. But a sidewise glance showed him that her interest lay elsewhere. So he screwed up his features into what he fondly hoped was a grim and deadly smile.
"For goodness sake, don't look as if you had eaten green apples," Ricky shot at him. "Just put on that face you wear when I show you a new hat. No, not that sneering one; the other."
Rupert threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Better let him alone, Ricky. After all, it's his face."
"I'm glad that someone has pointed out that fact," Val said stiffly, "because—"
"Oh, be quiet!" Charity leaned forward across the table. "Yes," she nodded, "you'll do."
"For what?" Val asked, slightly apprehensive.
"For my hero. Of course your hair is too short and you are rather too youthful, but I can disguise those points. And," she turned upon Ricky, "you can be the lady in distress. Which gives me another idea. Do you suppose that I might use your terrace for a background and have that big chair, the one with the high back?" she asked Rupert.
"You may have anything you want within these walls," he answered lightly enough, but it was clear that he really meant it.