"He's taken a terrific fancy to Maud, my kiddie sister," said Daisy. "She's sixteen. Yesterday afternoon at the tennis club he said to Maud: 'Look 'ere. I shall ride through the town to-morrow morning on my 'orse, while you're all marketing. I shan't take any notice of any of the other girls, but if you bow to me I'll take my 'at off to you.'" She imitated the Batchgrew intonation.
"That's a good tale," said Edwin calmly. "What a cuckoo! He ought to be put in a museum."
Daisy, made rather nervous by the success of her tale, bent over the piano, and skimmed pianissimo and rapidly through the "Clytie" waltz. Elaine moved her shoulders to the rhythm.
Janet said they must go.
"Here! Hold on a bit!" said Edwin, through the light film of music, and undoing the little parcel he handed one specimen of the programme to Hilda and another to Janet, simultaneously.
"Oh, so my ideas are listened to, sometimes!" murmured Hilda, who was, however, pleased.
A malicious and unjust remark, he thought. But the next instant Hilda said in a quite friendly natural tone:
"Janet's going to bring Elaine. And she says Tom says she is to tell you that he's coming whether he's wanted or not. Daisy won't come."
"Why?" asked Edwin, but quite perfunctorily; he knew that the Marrions were not interested in interesting music, and his design had been to limit the audience to enthusiasts.
"Church," answered Daisy succinctly.