Dora had given orders that their personal luggage should be transferred from the flat to No. 92 during the afternoon, and on her return she drove straight to that house. Claude had already arrived, and was sitting in the big Italian drawing room. He had had a most successful meeting, and was in excellent spirits.
“This is a bit better than the flat,” he said. “I went in there just now, and it was like a furnace. But here you wouldn’t know it was a hot day. It’s a handsome apartment: the governor bought nothing but the best when he had it done. And how’s Uncle Alf?”
“Very well, I thought, and very amusing,” said she. “Oh, Claude, he had a great-coat on, and goloshes. He is too funny!”
Claude did not reply for a moment.
“Darling, I hate criticising you,” he said at length, “but I don’t think you ought to laugh at Uncle Alf, considering all he does for us.”
“But he recommended me to,” said she. “He said he hoped I should laugh at him all the way back to town. In fact we talked about laughing at people, and he said what a good plan it was.”
Claude paused again. He felt strongly about this subject.
“Did he laugh at the governor?” he asked.
“Well, yes, a little,” said Dora.
“I hope you stuck up for him. I’m sure you did.”