“At the end of an hour you always get a cream bun! Do you indeed?”
“Yes,” said Miss Perry, “small ones, but they are almost as nice as the large ones.”
“I hope, Lascelles,” said Cheriton, “you have something to offer by way of extenuation?”
“Well, what can a fellow do?” said Jim, desperately. “What with the sun stuck up there, and this pink and white and blue and yellow arrangement. As for the chin—well, if a chin will curve like that it must take the consequences.”
Cheriton was shocked.
“Say as little as possible, Lascelles, I entreat you,” said he. “Your case is hopeless. But I feel bound to say this. Since we have had this astounding allegation of the cream buns, without probing the matter to the depths, which I am really afraid to do, I must say your future as a painter seems more roseate than ever.”
“Thank you, Lord Cheriton,” said Jim, modestly.
“But in regard to your future as a human being, as a unit of society, I prefer to exercise a wise discretion which will take the form of saying nothing whatever upon the subject.”
“Thank you, Lord Cheriton,” said Jim again.
Jim Lascelles then turned his gaze upon Miss Perry. It was of such singular resolution that it seemed as if it sought to hypnotize that irresponsible person to maintain the semblance of discretion.