"Don't say nasty things about her!" Lady Agnes broke out solemnly to her son after resting her eyes on him a moment with an air of reluctant reprobation.
"I say nothing but what she'd say herself," the young man urged. "About some things she has very good taste, but about this kind of thing she has no taste at all."
"That's better, I think," said Lady Agnes, turning her eyes again to the "kind of thing" her son appeared to designate.
"She's awfully clever—awfully!" Grace went on with decision.
"Awfully, awfully!" her brother repeated, standing in front of her and smiling down at her.
"You are nasty, Nick. You know you are," said the young lady, but more in sorrow than in anger.
Biddy got up at this, as if the accusatory tone prompted her to place herself generously at his side. "Mightn't you go and order lunch—in that place, you know?" she asked of her mother. "Then we'd come back when it was ready."
"My dear child, I can't order lunch," Lady Agnes replied with a cold impatience which seemed to intimate that she had problems far more important than those of victualling to contend with.
"Then perhaps Peter will if he comes. I'm sure he's up in everything of that sort."
"Oh hang Peter!" Nick exclaimed. "Leave him out of account, and do order lunch, mother; but not cold beef and pickles."