Bassett. [With an answering twinkle] Very well, miss.
Sydney. Oh—Bassett—tell Mr. Kit that—er—that the coast’s clear.
Bassett. He didn’t stay out with us, miss. Him and the puppy together was a bit too much for cook, with the turkey on her hands. [Looking round] He’s here somewhere, miss. [She goes out.]
Sydney. [Addressing space] Kit, you idiot, come out!
Kit. [Appearing at the head of the stairs] I spend half my life dodging your aunt. [As he runs downstairs he rakes a bunch of mistletoe from the top of a picture.] She spoilt the whole effect this morning, but now— [He advances on Sydney.]
Sydney. [Enjoying herself] What do you want now?
Kit. [Chanting] “The mistletoe hung in the old oak hall!”—
Sydney. [Eluding him] Shut up, Kit! [They dodge and scuffle like two puppies till the drawing-room door opens, letting in the sound of voices.]
Kit. Sst! [He dashes up the stairs and comes down again much more soberly as Sydney says over her shoulder—]
Sydney. It’s only Mother.