“Mrs. Guernsea, have you ever tried having Mr. Guernsea take your men and your maids out driving in the Park?”
“Why, no!”
“Try it, when you go back,” said I. “They will be pleased beyond any doubt.”
“But your servants were singing. Did not that annoy you?”
“My dear Mrs. Guernsea, it is one of the first principles of the simple life not to be annoyed. Didn’t you think their voices sweet?”
“Yes, but it seemed so—so unconventional.”
“The simple lifers,” said I, “abhor conventions that already exist. They aim to create new conventions and live up to them. We felt the need of song. Neither Mrs. Vernon nor myself can sing very acceptably. Both Minerva and James are blessed with delightful voices, so they sang for us without a word of demurring.”
“Would they sing now, do you suppose? It was really very lovely.”
“I have no doubt. I’ll go and ask them. But—”
I hesitated. The precious old humbug, so devoid of humour, was condescending toward the simple life during a single ennuied afternoon. I wondered if I could make her become a disciple of it for a few short moments; hence my hesitation. I resolved to risk it, and with an elevation of my eyebrows directed at Ethel which meant “Keep out,” I said: