At that moment the three angels burst into the room, but came forward decorously, and embraced their parent. They did not seem to adore him like they do Lady Ver.
“Good morning, papa,” said the eldest, and the other two repeated it in chorus. “We hope you have slept well, and had a nice passage across the sea.”
They evidently had been drilled outside!
Then, nature getting uppermost, they patted him patronizingly.
“Daddie, darling, have you brought us any new dolls from Paris?”
“And I want one with red hair, like Evangeline,” said Yseult, the youngest.
Sir Charles seemed bored and uncomfortable; he kissed his three exquisite bits of Dresden china, so like, and yet unlike himself—they have Lady Ver’s complexion, but brown eyes and golden hair like him.
“Yes, ask Harbottle for the packages,” he said. “I have no time to talk to you—tell your mother I will be in for lunch,” and making excuse to me for leaving so abruptly—an appointment in the City—he shuffled out of the room.
I wonder how Lady Ver makes his heart beat. I don’t wonder she prefers—Lord Robert.