He lit a cigarette and threw it away again.
“Muck!” he said. “By the way, Nellie, do stop till we go up to town.”
“Oh, my dear, I wish I could,” said she. “But I know Philip’s got some county business on the twenty-eighth that obliges him to go home. Something ridiculous about forbidding people to shoot golden orioles, of which there aren’t any.”
“Can’t you let him go alone?” asked Peter.
“Well; yes, I think I might. I’ll get my mother to go down. Mother will always go anywhere for board and lodging.”
“Don’t I remember that feeling!” said Peter. “So do stop. I heard Silvia ask my father.”
Nellie produced an admirable mimicry of Aunt Eleanor’s views on art, which, however, elicited from Peter only:
“Very funny: yes, very like her,” and he subsided into silence and fire-gazing again.
“Silvia seemed rather silent,” said Nellie at length.
Peter roused himself.