Her guests mostly breakfasted upstairs, but by the middle of the morning they had all straggled down. Lucia had brought with her yesterday her portrait by Sigismund, which Sophy declared was a masterpiece of adagio. She was advising her to clear all other pictures out of the music-room and hang it there alone, like a wonderful slow movement, when Mr. Merriall came in with the Sunday paper.
“Ah, the paper has come,” said Lucia. “Is not that Riseholmish of us? We never get the Sunday paper till midday.”
“Better late than never,” said Mr. Merriall, who was rather addicted to quoting proverbial sayings. “I see that Mrs. Shuttleworth’s coming down here to-day. Do ask her to dine and perhaps she’ll sing to us.”
Lucia paused for a single second, then clapped her hands.
“Oh, what fun that would be!” she said. “But I don’t think it can be true. Dearest Olga popped in—or did I pop in—yesterday morning in town, and she said nothing about it. No doubt she had not made up her mind then whether she was coming or not. Of course I’ll ring her up at once and scold her for not telling me.”
Lucia found from Olga’s caretaker that she and a friend were expected, but she knew they couldn’t come to lunch with her, as they were lunching with Mr. Pillson. She “couldn’t say, I’m sure” who the friend was, but promised to give the message that Mrs. Lucas hoped they would both come and dine.... The next thing was to ring up Georgie and be wonderfully cordial.
“Georgino mio, is it ’oo?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Georgie. He did not have to ask who it was, nor did he feel inclined for baby-talk.
“Georgino, I never caught a glimpse of you yesterday,” she said. “Why didn’t ’oo come round and see me?”
“Because you never asked me,” said Georgie firmly, “and because you never told me you were coming.”