"We'll persuade her when we've got her in the drawing-room," said Lady Warrener.
"I think," said the chatelaine, "that there's more chance of her being persuaded here. Won't you try, Sir Bryan?" in her sweetest tone.
"It may be a serious matter," said Lumsden, without looking at any one in particular. "Perhaps Miss Barbour's in training."
"Yes," said the lady of the Syringas. "But who's the trainer? That's what we all want to know."
"I've—I've got no clothes."
A smothered laugh, not only from the men.
"My dear child, we've got boxes and boxes of them upstairs—five generations."
There was a crash on a shirt-front, at which every one jumped but Arkcoll. He would have very much liked to see the box belonging to, say, generation three.
"And I've no music. Oh!" moving impatiently, "it's absurd."
Lady Warrener thought she detected a suppressed ambition in the restless movement.