“Oh, rather, Mrs. Failing. But I’m shockingly straightforward.”
“So am I,” said the lady. “I like to get down to the bedrock.—Hullo! Slippers? Slippers in the drawingroom?”
A young man had come in silently. Agnes observed with a feeling of regret that he had not shaved. Rickie, after a moment’s hesitation, remembered who it was, and shook hands with him. “You’ve grown since I saw you last.”
He showed his teeth amiably.
“How long was that?” asked Mrs. Failing.
“Three years, wasn’t it? Came over from the Ansells—friends.”
“How disgraceful, Rickie! Why don’t you come and see me oftener?”
He could not retort that she never asked him.
“Agnes will make you come. Oh, let me introduce Mr. Wonham—Miss Pembroke.”
“I am deputy hostess,” said Agnes. “May I give you some tea?”