“They won’t tell us,” he cried bitterly. “They’re all liars!”
There was an appalled silence.
“It’s time to get them home. Parties always upset them. Ben, stop biting your nails.”
“Joyce, what on earth are you snivelling about? Really, it seems as though the more you do for them the less they appreciate it.”
The rain had thinned to a drizzle. Martin stood uneasily in the hall while the others collected umbrellas and rubbers and repeated their curtsies. The house smelt of raincoats and fresh wallpaper.
“Martin, what is it? Don’t you see I’m busy talking to Mrs. Clyde? What do you keep twitching my arm for?”
He had only wanted to ask her if they could invite Joyce to stay to supper. But he couldn’t shout it out before everyone.
“Well, then, if you didn’t want anything special, why are you bothering me? Go and say good-bye to Joyce. Say it politely, and tell her you hope she’ll come again. And after that your father wants to speak to you.”
But Joyce had already gone, and when she looked back, to try to show him she understood, she did not see him. His father was asking him if a boy ten years old didn’t know better than to insult his parents like that.
THE END