Georgie had been busy indoors this afternoon, for he had been attending to his hair, and it was not quite dry yet, and the smell of the auburn mixture still clung to it. But the telephone was a trunk-call, and, whether his hair was dry or not, it must be attended to. Since Lucia had disappeared after that week-end party, he had had a line from her once or twice, saying that they must really settle when he would come and spend a few days in London, but she had never descended to the sordid mention of dates.
A trunk-call, as far as he knew, could only be Lucia or Olga, and one would be interesting and the other delightful. It proved to be the interesting one, and though rather difficult to understand because of the aforesaid mixture of baby-talk and Italian, it certainly conveyed the gist of the originator’s intention.
“Me so tired,” Lucia said, “and it will be divine to get to Riseholme again. So come to ’ickle quiet din-din with me and Pepino to-morrow, Georgino. Shall want to hear all novelle——”
“What?” said Georgie.
“All the news,” said Lucia.
Georgie sat in the draught—it was very hot to-day—until the auburn mixture dried. He knew that Daisy Quantock and Robert were playing clock-golf on the other side of his garden paling, for their voices had been very audible. Daisy had not been weeding much lately but had taken to golf, and since all the authorities said that matches were entirely won or lost on the putting-green, she with her usual wisdom devoted herself to the winning factor in the game. Presently she would learn to drive and approach and niblick and that sort of thing, and then they would see.... She wondered how good Miss Wethered really was.
Georgie, now dry, tripped out into the garden and shouted “May I come in?” That meant, of course, might he look over the garden paling and talk.
Daisy missed a very short putt, owing to the interruption.
“Yes, do,” she said icily. “I supposed you would give me that, Robert.”
“You supposed wrong,” said Robert, who was now two up.