Sir Julian threw himself into the breach, addressing himself to Mark Easter with an air of unconcern which he felt to be overdone.
"Have you talked to Walters about the car for Tuesday? I told him you would let him know what time——"
"Let's pat Peekaboo on the back," cried Ruthie hilariously.
"Gently, then. Yes, Sir Julian, thanks very much, I ... No, no, Ruthie—stop that—can't you see you're making him worse?"
"Daddy, I just choked—a crumb——"
"For goodness' sake don't talk, Ambrose. You'd better go upstairs."
"I'm sure the child will have convulsions in another minute. Do look at his face! Douglas, don't you think he's turning black?"
This last contribution of his Auntie Iris' to the sum of calamities already overwhelming the distressed Ambrose caused him to burst into tears.
"Do drink some tea, dear," urged Lady Rossiter.
"Take him upstairs, Ruthie," said her parent wearily.