Lady Cynthia only laughed.
“My dear Margaret,” she said, “if I thought that you had any, I should never believe that you were your father's daughter. Here's to them, anyway,” she added, accepting the cocktail from the tray which the butler had just brought out. “Mr. Ledsam, are you going to attach yourself to me, or has Margaret annexed you?”
“I have offered myself to Mrs. Hilditch,” Francis rejoined promptly, “but so far I have made no impression.”
“Try her with a punt and a concertina after dinner,” Lady Cynthia suggested. “After all, I came down here to better my acquaintance with my host. You flirted with me disgracefully when I was a debutante, and have never taken any notice of me since. I hate infidelity in a man. Sir Timothy, I shall devote myself to you. Can you play a concertina?”
“Where the higher forms of music are concerned,” he replied, “I have no technical ability. I should prefer to sit at your feet.”
“While I punt, I suppose?”
“There are backwaters,” he suggested.
Lady Cynthia sipped her cocktail appreciatively.
“I wonder how it is,” she observed, “that in these days, although we have become callous to everything else in life, cocktails and flirtations still attract us. You shall take me to a backwater after dinner, Sir Timothy. I shall wear my silver-grey and take an armful of those black cushions from the drawing-room. In that half light, there is no telling what success I may not achieve.”
Sir Timothy sighed.