"Elephantine wit," sighed that lady. "When Harry is so kind as to make a joke, which is unfortunately not so rare as one might wish, I always feel as if heavy feet were trampling about directly overhead."
"And when Lady Oxted makes a joke," said the lad, "which is not so often as her enemies would wish, she always reminds me of a sucking spring directly under foot. I give one water-logged cry, and am swallowed up. Do pour out tea for us, Lady Oxted. You are such an excellent tea-maker!"
"The score is fifteen all," remarked Evie.
"When did Harry score?" demanded Lady Oxted, seating herself at the urn.
"Just now, dear aunt.—And so Jim is to marry the dairymaid, Lord Vail."
"And who is Jim?" asked Lady Oxted.
"My double. I wish I knew as much about horses as he. Yes, Jim is walking out with the dairymaid."
"I have heard enough about Jim," said Lady Oxted decisively. "Here is Mr. Francis.—Mr. Francis, take my side: there is a league against me.
"A charming one," said Mr. Francis, directing his gay glance to Evie.
But the girl did not meet it; she looked quite gravely and deliberately away.