"Good! Famous!" rallied George Keets. "Now that makes how many of us?" he reckoned. "Kenmlworth?"
"No, let's not bother about Kennilworth," said my Husband.
"You?" queried George Keets.
"Yes, I'm going," acquiesced my Husband.
"And you, Mrs. Delville, of course?"
"No, I think not," I said.
"Just the Brenswicks then," counted George Keets. "And Allan John and——"
Once again, from the railing of the upper landing, the May Girl's wistfully mirthful face peered down through that amazing cloud of gold-gray hair.
"Allan John—Allan John!" she called very softly. "I'd like to have you dress warmly—you know! And not get just too absolutely tired out! And be sure and take the whistle," she laughed very resolutely, "and if anybody isn't good to you— you just blow it hard—and I'll come."
As befitted the psychic necessities of a very cranky Person- With-a-Future, young Kennilworth was not disturbed for lunch.