Philip received a scalding cup of tea from his hostess, and lowered himself timidly to a seat beside her.
"I am so glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Meldrum," said Lady Rendle. "I have heard so much of you from my boy. One likes to meet some one one knows takes an interest in one's belongings, doesn't one?"
Philip, painfully unravelling this sentence, suddenly caught his hostess's eye, and realised that an answer was expected of him.
"Yes," he said, sforzando. "Oh, yes! One does."
Graciously directed to help himself to something to eat, he dipped blindly into the nearest dish, with the result that he immediately found himself the proprietor of a bulky corrugated tube of French pastry, with cream protruding from either end. He surveyed it miserably, wondering dimly if it would be possible to restore it without attracting attention. He was frustrated by Lady Rendle.
"I like to see a young man," she said approvingly, "who is not afraid of tea and sweet cakes. There are far too many of them nowadays who consider it beneath their dignity to take tea at all. Caviare sandwiches and whiskey-and-soda are all they will condescend to. And now," she added briskly, "I want to introduce you to a charming girl."
The quaking Philip, with his bilious burden, was conducted across the room and presented to a pretty girl in a hat which for the time being deprived its wearer of the use of one eye.
"This is Mr. Meldrum, Barbara dear," announced Lady Rendle. "Miss Duncombe."
Philip, still bitterly ashamed of his tea, achieved a lopsided bow, and Lady Rendle departed to her own place.