“I had really better go away at once,” Claudia exclaimed impatiently. “Why did they ask me to come? It was his suggestion—not mine. And it is ridiculous. The place is ever so much improved by a little thinning.”
“Oh, I dare say. I’m not defending Harry, only when people can never be induced to blow their own trumpets, I feel irresistibly impelled to produce a blast. Let us talk about some one else. Captain Fenwick, for instance. Neither of us need blow for him.”
“He’s amusing,” remarked Claudia indifferently.
“There’s a tribute!” said Miss Arbuthnot, looking at her between half-closed eyelids.
“And he rides a bicycle better than any one I know.”
“So that you are less hard on him than on poor idle Harry?”
“Hard? I don’t know. He idles too, but—”
“More impressively.”
“He has been useful in getting me a commission to work at Huntingdon. He says it’s in dreadful order, for Sir Peter has only just succeeded, and of course the worse it is, the better for me.”
This time the silence lasted longer. Then Miss Arbuthnot spoke without turning her head—