But before they reach the hall door Geoffrey feels it his duty to bestow upon them a word or two of warning.
"Now, look here," he says, impressively: "I hope nobody is going to indulge in so much as a covert smile to-day." He glances severely at Nolly, who is already wreathed in smiles. "Because the Æsthetic won't have it. She wouldn't hear of it at any price. We must all be in tense! If you don't understand what that means, Mona, you had better learn at once. You are to be silent, rapt, lifted far above all the vulgar commonplaces of life. You may, if you like, go into a rapture over a colorless pebble, or shed tears of joy above a sickly lily; but avoid ordinary admiration."
"The only time I shed tears," says Mr. Darling, irrelevantly, "for many years, was when I heard of the old chap's death. And they were drops of rich content. Do you know I think unconsciously he impregnated her with her present notions; because he was as like an 'ancient Briton' himself before he died as if he had posed for it."
"He was very eccentric, but quite correct," says Lady Rodney, reprovingly.
"He was a man who never took off his hat," begins Geoffrey.
"But why?" asks Mona, in amaze. "Didn't he wear one?"
"Yes, but he always doffed it; and he never put one on like ordinary mortals, he always donned it. You can't think what a difference it makes."
"What a silly boy you are, Geoff!" says his wife, laughing.
"Thank you, darling," replies he, meekly.
"But what is Lady Lilias like? I did not notice her the other night," says Mona.