Lady Rossiter said "My dear!" in a tone which simultaneously conveyed protest at Miss Easter's excessive effusion and the unspoken admission that any lesser enthusiasm would never have met the case, and Julian laughed a little, simply because Iris was so pretty and her monstrous affectation had not yet had time to produce its usual effect upon his temper.
"Where's your young man?" Mark asked her, with a laugh. "He ought to be back by this time."
"Douglas?" said Iris, in a careless and interrogatory way, as though the enquiry might refer to any number of attendant swains. "Oh, he'll be here directly. I can hear the dear kiddies, Mark."
So could everyone else, as Ruthie and Ambrose whined, argued, and stampeded their way downstairs.
The usual violent onslaught on the door-handle ensued, but after it had been wrenched from Ambrose by Ruthie's superior height and strength of muscle, they effected a decorous entry into the drawing-room hand-in-hand.
"Oh, you sweet pets!" was the misguided exclamation of their Auntie Iris. Julian wondered if it were provoked by the unwonted starchy whiteness of Ruthie's skirts, which had a look of having been outgrown by her some months previously, or by the long, pale sausage of hair that had been forced into an unwilling curl on the extreme top of her brother's head.
"Say how do you do," Mark admonished them, with a rather puzzled look as he took in the cleanly aspect for once presented by his progeny.
"How fast Ruthie is growing!" said Lady Rossiter, in a slightly disparaging tone. Mark gazed regretfully at the legs of his daughter and muttered under his moustache:
"They want someone to see to their clothes. Sarah does her best, but servants can't be expected——"
Lady Rossiter turned upon him a deepened gaze expressive of compassion, comprehension, and much else that was destined to remain unappreciated, as further sounds of arrival took Mark to the door.