“Dear me, how amusing!”—with a sarcastic lifting of the brows; and she replaced her cigarette in her mouth, and took a whiff. “I hear you are tremendous fun,” she drawled.
“Who says so?”
“Oh, some one—Dudley I think; but it does not matter. Would you mind reaching me that cushion? Thanks. Now you might fetch me another of those excellent caviare sandwiches.”
* * * * *
The following morning was wet—a hopeless day; and card-tables were set at eleven. People played till lunch, from lunch till tea, from tea till dinner.
After dinner Lady Boxhill said—
“Lottie my dear, my brain feels in a sort of pulp; my ideas are mixed; I’ve played seventeen rubbers to-day. Do let us have some parlour tricks, or music, as a sort of rest cure.”
“Oh, very well, if you like. Yes, Tito”—turning to her daughter—“go and beat up recruits”—and she once more settled herself comfortably among her cushions.
Presently Tito came back, and proclaimed—