“Yes, it is always nice to be at home again,” assented his wife. “Nesta must be sick of roughing it, too.”
“Well, I won’t say that,” answered the girl. “I’ll only agree that I am rather glad to be back again.”
“So they will be at the club this afternoon,” laughed Upward. “By the way, why don’t those children come in? They are always late. It’s a perfect nuisance.”
A wrangle of voices, and the children did come in. Racket in hand, they were disputing vehemently as to the rights and wrongs of a game they had been obliged to break off in the middle of.
“Wonder how long Campian will stick at Jermyn’s? I believe the old chap’s getting a bit smashed there.”
“Nonsense, Ernest,” laughed his wife. “You’re always thinking someone or other must be getting ‘smashed.’”
“Why shouldn’t he? She’s a deuced fine girl that niece of Jermyn’s—and then just think what a lot they’ll see of each other. What do you think about it, Miss Cheriton?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
“Too black,” put in Lily the irrepressible. “If he could run the gauntlet of Nesta all this time, I don’t think he’s likely to go smash there.”
“Of course you’re an authority on such matters, Lily,” laughed her mother. “Ernest, you see now what notions you put into the children’s heads.”