“The man as well,” said Miss Pinnegar. “What does the woman want to bring him for? I’m sure I don’t know what your father would say—a common show-fellow, looks what he is—and staying to dinner.”
Miss Pinnegar was thoroughly out of temper as she tried the potatoes. Alvina set the table. Then she went to the drawing-room.
“Will you come to dinner?” she said to her two guests.
Ciccio rose, threw his cigarette into the fire, and looked round. Outside was a faint, watery sunshine: but at least it was out of doors. He felt himself imprisoned and out of his element. He had an irresistible impulse to go.
When he got into the hall he laid his hand on his hat. The stupid, constrained smile was on his face.
“I’ll go now,” he said.
“We have set the table for you,” said Alvina.
“Stop now, since you have stopped for so long,” said Madame, darting her black looks at him.
But he hurried on his coat, looking stupid. Madame lifted her eyebrows disdainfully.
“This is polite behaviour!” she said sarcastically.