Crosby looks rather helplessly round him.
‘Another sister?’ asks he.
‘No, no,’ says Susan, whilst the others explode; and Crosby, unable to resist their gaiety, joins in the merriment. ‘A servant——’
‘Had a magenta feather in her hat!’ cries Betty, roaring with laughter, ‘and Aunt Jemima hates feathers, and——’
‘This is my story, Betty,’ interrupts Carew; ‘I insist on telling it. When the Paradise hymn began, Aunt Jemima saw the feather——’
‘Pounced upon Sarah!’ cries Susan, who is nearly in hysterics. ‘Oh, did you see her? She sang the most dreadful things at her until the poor girl nearly fainted, and——’
‘And then our only auntie punched her in the back with her Prayer-book,’ puts in Dom. ‘Really, Betty, I did wrong you! You aren’t in it with her. She cussed and swore like anything, but worse than all, Susan, was her ribald rendering of music-hall songs within the sainted precincts of the church.’
‘Nonsense, Dom! you spoil the story by exaggeration.’
‘Exaggeration! My dear girl, didn’t you hear her? Why, she was shouting it! She got rather mixed up in the music—I’m bound to say the two times are not the same—but she managed it wonderfully. You heard her, Carew, didn’t you?
‘“Where did you get that hat?”