"Certainly," responded the gifted one, regarding his host as he launched easily into song:—
"'I'm looking for a lobster and I think you'll do.'"
Mrs. Fabian did not join in the laugh. She had moved inside, and her lorgnette was fixed on a closed door.
"I must see in there, Phil," she said.
"Of course, you must, Mrs. Bluebeard," he replied. "You may all go in this once, but it's the last time ever, I warn you, for that is my kitchen."
They swarmed through to the little room, where Edgar perceived with a groan an oil-stove burning cosily in the midst of canvas, paints, easel, et cetera.
"I'll never go in again, I promise you," he declared.
At the host's invitation, the company arranged themselves on the rejuvenated chairs and couch, and Kathleen made tea at the spindle-legged table.
Mrs. Fabian's lorgnette was bent upon the newel post.