Emma Hartroff looked up—the pencil on her lip:
“Hang it all, you’ve left me out, Lovegood!” she said.
Lovegood smiled:
“I distinctly mentioned beauty and fashion, Emma. But I will give you the personal note: Miss Hartroff was elegantly dressed in peau-de-suede gloves of the latest colour——”
Rippley said “Naughty!”
Lovegood coughed:
“Mr. Aubrey, languidly witty, was the soul of poetry in motion.”
There was a gentle snore.
Rippley held up a hand, motioning for silence:
“Ts-s-sh!” he hushed; and he added in a whisper: “Poetry sleeps.”