"Let's see," I said carelessly, "the fete's on—er—Wednesday, or Thursday, is it?"
"Which day are you going up to Town?" said Daphne. I changed my ground.
"The Bananas are all right," I said, lighting a cigarette.
"They only ate a missionary the other day," said my sister.
"That's bad," said I musingly. "To any nation the consumption of home produce is of vital—"
"We want to make sixty pounds."
"To go towards their next meal? How much do missionaries cost?"
"To save their souls alive," said Daphne zealously.
"I'm glad something's to be saved alive," said I.
Before she could reply, tea began to appear. When the footman had retired to fetch the second instalment of accessories, I pointed the finger of scorn at the table, upon which he had set the tray.