“Yes, mamma. Mrs. Smith knows all about it,” said Elizabeth.
“I hope you are giving them something decent, Elizabeth,” said Norah. “I hold socialistic principles, Mr. Deane, and I hate the bun-and-mug system of entertaining so-called social inferiors.”
“That’s all right,” said Elizabeth.
“But what are you giving them?” insisted Norah, thinking she perceived a reluctance in her sister’s reply.
“Oh, the usual thing—sandwiches, creams, fruit, hock-cup, iced coffee, strawberry ices——”
“What?” said Norah. “Ices? Quite unnecessary!”
“I know all the girls,” said Elizabeth, defending herself. “I’ve played with Rose Werrit at every school-treat since I could toddle. I wanted them to have things they would like.”
“You’re so sentimental, Elizabeth,” said Norah lightly. “I can’t stand sentiment. Can you, Mr. Deane?”
“There are as many kinds of sentiment as there are of”—Andy paused for a simile, and concluded somewhat lamely—“of sauce.”
“Elizabeth’s is the sweet kind, then, flavoured with vanilla,” said Norah, with her little upward curve of the lips.