"It is for Geoffrey a good thing that his papa is killed," said Lola thoughtfully. "Naturally I cannot marry him when he has no money, but that is quite different now, and he will have a great deal of money, and also he will be Sir Geoffrey, which I find is better than Mister; more distinguished."
"Sorry," said Dinah, "but Arthur wasn't a baronet. Geoffrey will have to go on being Mister."
Miss de Silva appeared to be much chagrined by this piece of information, and slightly indignant. "I should prefer that I should be Lady Billington-Smith, like your sister," she said firmly. "I do not understand why Geoffrey is not to be Sir Geoffrey. It seems to me quite incomprehensible, but perhaps it will be arranged. I will speak to Geoffrey."
Suddenly Dinah knew that she too was going to break into hopeless laughter. She bit her lip, and tried to choke down the impulse.
The watchful Finch came round the table and poured some wine into her glass. "A little burgundy, miss," he whispered.
Dinah gulped it down gratefully. Really, Finch was wonderful: like a sick-room attendant.
Camilla, on whom food and drink seemed to have had a reviving effect, had launched into an exclamatory and rambling discussion of the morning's events with no one in particular. Her husband tried to stop her. "It's no use asking who could have done it: we can't possibly know," he said angrily. "The less we talk about it the better!"
The footman came into the room from the hall, and murmured something in Finch's ear. He was a young man, and looked somewhat scared, as though all these dramatic proceedings were to him a fearful pleasure.
Finch nodded, and went round behind Guest's chair. "The Superintendent would like to see you now, sir," he said in, a low voice. "In the morning-room, sir."
Dinah was irresistibly reminded of a dentist's waiting-room. Your name was spoken in a sepulchral voice, and out you went, feeling a little sick at the pit of your stomach.