He was silent instantly.
When Hazel’s song was over Nina Severing asked for her motor.
“It has been so nice, dearest,” she murmured, embracing her hostess. “I’ve missed you too dreadfully all the summer, and now you’ll be off again in a week, I suppose.”
“Oh yes, escorting my two young gadabouts to various country houses. I’m an old-fashioned woman, and don’t let my girls stay away alone, you know, unless I’m very sure of the house they’re going to. One would prefer one’s own chimney-corner, of course, but that’s neither here nor there.”
She laughed cheerily.
“For the matter of that,” cut in Hazel incisively, “I should much prefer the chimney-corner myself, mother, and so would Rosamund. You know how we’ve begged you to let us spend the autumn here in peace.”
“Oh yes, yes, yes,” scoffed her mother good-humouredly. “I’ve heard little girls say that before, my darling.”
Nina, too, laughed softly.
“We mothers make our sacrifices for these young things in spite of themselves,” she declared lightly. “Good-night, Hazel. I hear you dance better than any girl in London. Make the most of your time, my dear. Good-night, Francie dear. Why, you’ve been as quiet as a little mouse all the evening. It’s very hard to play Cinderella, isn’t it, with your two ugly sisters going to the Ball every night?”
They all laughed as though the time-worn allusion had not been made with almost daily regularity by Miss Blandflower.