He sat up, clasping his knees with his hands, and appeared to slide off into generalities. “How exceedingly little we all know of each other,” he said. “What do I know of my father, for instance? Hardly anything. And I know even less of my mother. Just her name, Rosina Viagi, and I shouldn’t know that if it wasn’t for the picture of her in the gallery. Who are the Viagis, Aunt Hester? Anybody?”
“Don’t know at all, my dear,” said she. “I know as little about them as you. Quite respectable folk, I daresay, though what does it matter if they weren’t?”
“Not an atom. Queen Elizabeth wished she was a milk-maid, didn’t she?”
“Lord, she’d have upset the milk-pails and stampeded the cows!” observed Lady Hester. “Better for her to be a queen. Why, here’s your father.”
This was rather an unusual appearance, for Lord Yardley did not generally shew himself till lunch-time. Colin instantly jumped up.
“Hurrah, father!” he said. “Come and talk. Cigarette? Chair?”
Lord Yardley shook his head. “No, dear boy,” he said. “I sent for you and heard you were out, so I came to look for you. Have five minutes’ stroll with me.”
Colin took his father’s arm. “Rather,” he said. “Tell Vi that I’ll be back in a few minutes if she comes out, will you, Aunt Hester?”
Philip stopped. “Another time will do, Colin,” he said, “if you’ve made any arrangement with Violet.”
“Only vague tennis.”