Since. his lordship was unable to refute this piece of recondite knowledge, he could think of no adequate retort, and therefore said nothing. So, having successfully put him in his place, Timothy continued in an easy, conversational tone: "Rather odd, the way different foods go in and out of fashion. My mother tells me that when she was a girl, for instance, scallops, which we think very well of, were considered to be too cheap and common to figure on any menu."
"I had the pleasure of meeting your mother at dear Mary Petersfield's party," said Mrs. Haddington. "I should so much like to know her better: what an interesting woman she is! How much I enjoyed her book describing her adventures on the Congo border!"
Timothy, who shared with his half-brother, Mr. James Kane, an ineradicable conviction that the Second World War had been inaugurated by providence to put an end to their beloved but very trying parent's passion for exploring remote quarters of the globe, bowed, and murmured one of the conventional acknowledgements with which the more astute relatives of an author take care to equip themselves.
"Is Norma Harte your mother?" demanded Guisborough abruptly. "I can't say I've read any of her books, but I've heard of her. She knows Equatorial Africa pretty well, doesn't she? What are her views on the native question? Or hasn't she any?"
Timothy had not read his mother's books either, but he was not going to put up with this sort of thing. He replied with deceptive readiness: "Oh, rather! I believe she's very sound. In fact, if you're thinking of a safari you couldn't do better than to consult her. She'll tell you which tribes make the best carriers, and what you want to look out for in your headman, and what are the main pitfalls: Christianised boys, boys who try to talk English to you, and sit down in your chairs - that sort of thing!"
"That," said Guisborough, reddening angrily, "is not what I meant! I was referring - though possibly this might not interest Lady Harte! - to -"
"Oh, do shut up about Africa and natives!" interrupted Cynthia. "I do think all that sort of thing is too boring!"
Mrs. Haddington, although she could not but be glad of the intervention, uttered a reproving exclamation, looking rather anxiously at her daughter as she did so. Cynthia was in one of her petulant moods, rejecting most of the dishes offered to her, fidgeting with the cutlery, and taking no pains at all to be polite to her mother's guests.
"Tired, baby?" asked Seaton-Carew, smiling at her across the table. "I suppose you've been on the go since breakfast-time, as usual?"
"I'm afraid she has," said Mrs. Haddington. "I think I shall have to have the telephone dismantled! It never stops ringing from morning till night, and always it's scinuxme wanting my frivolous daughter, isn't it, Miss Birtly?"