"Rather."
"All right. Come on!"
They fell upon me, and the next few minutes were devoted to what I believe is known in pantomime circles as a Grand Rally, which necessitated my going upstairs afterwards and changing my collar.
Robin was not present at tea, and my household took advantage of his absence to run over his points.
Considering that a woman—especially a young woman—judges a man almost entirely by his manner and appearance, and dislikes him exceedingly if he proceeds to dominate the situation to her exclusion—unless, by the way, he has her permission and authority so to do, in which case he cannot do so too much—the verdict delivered upon my absent secretary was not by any means unfavourable, though, of course, there was much to criticise.
"He'll do," said Dilly; "but you must get his hair cut, Adrian."
"And tell him about not wearing that sort of tie, dear," said Dolly.
"I suppose he can't help his accent," sighs Kitty.
But their criticisms were limited to such trifles as these, and I felt that Robin had done me credit.
Dilly summed up the situation.