“And how is the piano?”
“What have we here, Lucilla?” said the Canon gravely, although the dish of cutlets was of an unmistakable nature.
He often made use of the phrase, and on this occasion it bore an inflexion of disapproval that was evidently not inspired by the cutlets themselves, but by some inner, more profound discontent.
“Cutlets in a silver dish,” said Mr. Clover.
“Do you know that the Admastons are getting up a theatrical show?” Adrian inquired. “Good idea, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t know any of them could act,” said Flora.
“Oh, they’ve got friends and people. I tell you who’s awfully good—Olga Duffle. She’s going to stay on for the performance. As a matter of fact, they’ve asked me to help get the thing up.”
Adrian’s elaborately casual tone did not prevent anyone except Lucilla from glancing surreptitiously at the Canon, to see how the announcement was received.
The Canon was frowning heavily.
“No one has more sympathy than myself with any diversions for young people, but the modern craze for amusement is carried too far. What is it that your friends are proposing to do, Adrian?”