"What about?" they asked, feeling that it had somehow been the atmosphere of the whole day.
"The dilapidation of my pig-styes; Jones says two of them will go on for some time, but the others want repairing. Now, is it worth while to have two repaired, or shall I wait until they all fall to pieces, and put up brick ones?"
"That is a question," said Norah, gravely.
The musician laughed heartily.
"What a fuss ladies make about trifles. If you had a man to manage your affairs—"
"But I haven't," she said quickly, and looked him full in the face; "I thought of getting one, but—it has fallen through."
The musician did not laugh any more, and Norah's big eyes began to shine again. Lady Joan felt she had fully deserved that little bit of revenge. But it was not amusing enough to carry any further, and she was beginning to weary of the protracted love-making of the day, especially now that she was no longer a principal actor in the play. So she folded up her work elaborately, and pinned it in a white silk handkerchief, and put her hand on her mouth to conceal a yawn.
"It has been the longest day I have ever spent. I suppose it is the weather. Would you shut the piano, Mr. Raleigh? You look tired to death, Norah, and I am going to take you to bed. Come along at once, please."
They all rose to their feet, and there was an embarrassing moment. But Lady Joan took another little bit of revenge here, and kept her arm round Norah's waist, and her sharp eyes on both of them.
"You will come to breakfast to-morrow, and bring Sonny with you? Say good-night and come, Norah, I am so sleepy."