"Oh, no, it was really lamb you had yesterday," the housekeeper maintained irrelevantly.
"I said we apparently live on butter," Guy shouted.
Then of course Miss Peasey would poke her veiny nose right down into the book, while the draught blew her hair about and unpleasantly tickled his cheek.
"It's the best butter," she said sorrowfully at last.
"But my watch is quite all right."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I made an allusion to Alice in Wonderland," he shouted.
Miss Peasey retired from the room in dudgeon, and Guy wasted ten minutes in examining various theories on what his housekeeper could have thought he meant by his last remark. Finally he wrote off to a friend of his, an ardent young Radical peer with whom he had shared rooms at Oxford.
PLASHERS MEAD, WYCHFORD, OXON.
March 15.