"General Brownlow will doubtless be able to tell us why the Germans did not take Paris," said George Freyne, coming in in a motor-coat, "and Lancelot comes to-morrow in the mail on crutches. He is not likely to rejoin. Some bone must come out."
"Fancy if we found a spy here!" giggled Violet Weston. "You just finish that 'towards men,' Mr. Keefe. I won't. How exciting it would be! And you know if it's true that there is a supply base for submarines about, there might easily be someone paying out the money, mightn't there?"
Again she looked at Gheena. Stafford flushed slowly, his lips set together.
Mr. Freyne, who had to have fresh tea—not China—and fresh hot cakes, and who was palpably annoyed because no one took a great deal of interest in Lancelot, his nephew, now remarked acidly that he had run into Mrs. Weston's on his way back to leave in a book which Annette had borrowed from her, and he was astonished to see how untidy her little back garden was. The man Guinane was absolutely useless to her, and he suggested her taking on old Dillon instead.
Violet Weston replied that she loved the boating on calm days, and that Guinane had promised her to grow peas and beans in the spring, and flowers she must grow herself, she supposed; but she liked Guinane.
The texts were piled against the wall; patient house-maids removed fluff, nails and leaves, and everyone thought of hot baths.
"I have asked them all to dinner for Christmas," said Mrs. Freyne presently. "It makes us forget how bad the war is when everyone talks of it, doesn't it, Dearest George?"
"Mr. Keefe will argue with the General," said Dearest George gloomily, "and Annette and Grace and Lancelot must come. But it is your house, my dear love," he added gloomily; "one cannot take back invitations."
General Brownlow was motored from Clonaheen on a blustering night. He proved to be an elderly but active person, with a lean, hatchet face, deeply-set eyes and a repressive manner. He brought his man—a particularly superior-looking person, not a soldier—and hoped they had expected a valet.
Mrs. Freyne thought hopefully that if the man was not rheumatic, a good deal of hot air from the red room must have gone into the little one next to it, and the man could sleep there.