"The one with the drunken blue eyes," said Val, aware that this was sheer malice.
"Oh, that's Rupert!" Relief burst from Haidee. But Kitty's appetite was gone. She assumed a dark and menacing expression of countenance that her mother declared reminded her of Mendelssohn's Spring Song.
"It makes me want to prance and leap like Cissie Loftus imitating Maude Allen when I see you look like that, Kit," she said. But Kit remained cross as a cat and would not smile.
"And where did these figs come from?" asked Val in amaze.
"They are Bran's," quoth Haidee demurely. "An angel left them in the Jules for him."
It may have been religious fervour which then seized the girls or it may merely have been a fervour for going in the direction of Mascaret, at any rate they patronised both High Mass and Vespers and seemed to be discontented that there were no further services to attend.
In the evening, as it was Sunday, there were letters to write instead of the usual game of Bridge. Every one appeared to be deeply occupied, but a listening look was so apparent on two faces that Harriott could not resist a mischievous remark to Val.
"I wonder if the cabbages have come yet?" As if by some magical arrangement with fate there came on the instant the usual whirring sound followed by the crackling underfoot of broken crockery which had strayed from the garbage hole.
"What's that?" cried Bran nervously from his bed in the next room.
"Hush, my Wing! I expect it's only a basket of eggs arriving in the Jules," soothed his mother.