Peter looked right and left, then for a single second straight in front of him, where Silvia sat.
“Rather,” he said. “We’re all Symites.”
He paused a moment.
“What a pity I didn’t go to see him this morning,” he said very deliberately, “before I left London. I might have been well by this time.”
Silvia did not look up: she turned away to Mr. Mainwaring, who was on her right. Some jerked movement of her hand caused a teaspoon to clatter from its saucer and fall on the floor.
His father gave a little yodel, adapted to the drawing-room.
“Let me have a word with you sometime, my Peter,” he said.
“Yes. I’ll come to see you before I dress. Just now Nellie and I are going to have a talk. Will that do? Come, Nellie.”
Peter drew two chairs up to the fire.
“That’s nice,” he said. “Priceless, aren’t they? Aunt Eleanor is really the most wonderful. Can you bear it for three days, do you think? They go day after Christmas.”