"King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid," James chuckled. "Or were you going to suggest to Beatrice that next time you have supper with us she should experiment not only with fresh cream, but also with some rare dish like nightingales' tongues—or even veal, for instance?"
"Now, Jimmie, you're always puttin' hits in at me about veal; but if I get veal, it throws me out for the whole week."
John made another effort to wrench the conversation free from the topic of food:
"No, no, James. I was going to ask you to let Beatrice come and give me a hand with our nephew and our niece." He slightly accentuated the pronoun of plural possession. "Of course, that is to say, if Beatrice would be so kind."
"What do you want her to do? Beat them?" James asked.
"No, no, no, James. I'm not joking. As I explained to you, I've got these two children—er—staying with me. It appears that George is too overstrained, too ill, that is, to manage them during the few weeks that Eleanor will be away on tour, and I thought that if Beatrice could be my guest for a week or two until the governess has re-created her nervous system, which I understand will take about a month, I should feel a great weight off my mind. A bachelor household, you know, is not primarily constructed to withstand an invasion by children. You'd find them very difficult here, James, if you hadn't got Beatrice."
"Oh, Johnnie, I should love it," his sister-in-law cried. "That is if Jimmie could spare me."
"Of course, I could. You'd better take her back with you to-night."
"No, really?" said John. "Why that would be splendid. I'm immensely obliged to you both."
"He's quite anxious to get rid of me," Beatrice laughed, happily. "I sha'n't be long packin'. Fancy lookin' after Eleanor's two youngsters. I've often thought I would rather like to see if I couldn't bring up children."