'We shall be only six for the first brew,' prompted the girl at her side.
'Paul Filey is mooning somewhere about the garden.'
'Oh!'
'Why do you say it like that?'
Hermione's eyes rested a moment on the golfer who was bringing up the rear. He was younger than his rather set figure had at a distance proclaimed him.
'I was only thinking Dick Farnborough can't abide Paul,' said the girl.
'A typical product of the public school is hardly likely to appreciate an undisciplined creature with a streak of genius in him like Paul Filey.'
'Oh, I rather love him myself,' said the girl, lightly, 'only as Sophia says he does talk rather rot at times.'
With her hand on the tea-urn, releasing a stream of boiling water into the pot, Lady John glanced over the small thickset angel that poised himself on one podgy foot upon the lid of the urn.