Harry Dennison piled up the plate eagerly held out to him.
"Who'll give you fruit at Dieppe?" he asked, stroking his daughter's hair.
Mrs. Cormack pricked up her ears.
"Didn't we tell you?" asked Mrs. Dennison. "Harry can't come for a fortnight. That tiresome old Sir George" (Sir George was the senior partner in Dennison, Sons & Company) "is down with the gout, and Harry's got to stay in town. But I'll give Madge fruit—if she's good."
"Papa gives it me anyhow," said Madge, who preferred unconditional benefits.
Harry laughed dolefully. He had been looking forward to a holiday with his children. Their uninterrupted society would have easily consoled him for the loss of the moor.
"It's an awful bore," he said; "but there's no help for it. Sir George can't put a foot to the ground."
"Anyhow," suggested Mrs. Cormack, "you will be able to help Mr. Ruston with the Omofaga."
"Papa," broke out Madge, her face bright with a really happy idea, which must, she thought, meet with general acceptance, "since you can't come, why shouldn't Tom?"
Mrs. Cormack grew more amused. Oh, it was quite worth while to have the children! They were so good at saying things one couldn't say oneself; and then one could watch the effect. In an impulse of gratitude, she slid a banana on to Madge's plate.