“Let me see; isn’t it a bit too early for blackberries?” said he.
“Yes; but not for primroses,” said Rosa.
“Nor for lunch,” said he. “Did I dream that I heard one of you—if not both—say that this house should be called Starvation Hall?”
They both laughed.
“Not exactly,” said Priscilla.
“Well, words to that effect,” he cried. “Anyhow, whether you did or not, you’ll never say it again. Here comes Mrs. Pearce—of course you know Mrs. Pearce. I needn’t introduce her to you.”
“Oh, we all know Mrs. Pearce,” cried Rosa, as the caretaker entered, bearing a tray and a smell of a grill.
“Then she can introduce you to me,” said he.
Mrs. Pearce, red of face and opulent of bust, stood for a moment as one amazed, looking from the young women to the young man.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pearce,” cried Rosa.