Manners have been drummed into me from early youth, so I said politely, “You only arrived from Paris late last night, did you not?”
“I got in about seven o’clock, I think,” he replied.
“We had to leave so early, we were going to the Opera,” I said.
“A Wagner that begins at unearthly hours, I suppose,” he murmured absently.
“No, it was ‘Carmen’—but we dined first with my—my—guardian, Mr. Carruthers.”
“Oh.”
We both ate for a little—the tea was greenish-black—and lukewarm—no wonder he has dyspepsia.
“Are the children in, I wonder,” he hazarded, presently.
“Yes,” I said. “I went to the nursery and saw them as I came down.”