Full of guilt, he pulled himself together, to make his excuses. There was a gap now. No one seemed to volunteer as speaker. He——
But Mr. President was on his feet. He must not interrupt.
"Gentlemen—and Ladies!" said the President amid appreciative laughter, "all the volunteers now being exhausted, I shall proceed in accordance with Kit Kat tradition to call out the reserve and ask them to speak, whether they wish it or no. And the first gentleman I think we all feel we should like to hear speak is our old valued friend and excellent critic, Mr. Henry Jenks."
This met with such general applause that Hubert felt it would be ridiculous to get up now. It also would be rude and pointed. Besides, "critic"—did he mean professional? It might be silly to offend him. After all, these people who were asked to speak would surely be better, their estimate of his work more worth while, than those who simply wanted to hear their own voice?
Helena wouldn't mind. She was so easy-going, bless her. She would love to hear.
To the flattered relief of a vigilant President, who had observed the guest of honour's restless movement, Hubert settled once more in his chair.
He would stay ... just a little.