“It’s really most——” began Andy, pale with annoyance, striding towards the door.
But Bill caught hold of a flying coat-tail.
“Easy on,” he said. “She couldn’t help it. She’s done”—he paused, then burst out into an irresistible guffaw—“she’s done her best!”
“It’s very kind of you to make a joke——” began Andy again, when Norah remarked—
“Make a joke! You couldn’t make a joke like that!”
And the whole party, excepting Mrs. Stamford, laughed with such infectious gaiety that the agitated host at last joined in.
However, the little maid now reappeared bearing the chickens, which were so elegant in their white sauce and golden egg and green parsley that Andy felt comforted.
“Nothing I like so much as a boiled chicken,” said Elizabeth, assuming an air of greedy expectation.
“I always maintain,” said Bill, “that if you ask the King to lunch and give him a fowl, he’s all right.”
“I expect that’s what you gave him, last time he lunched with you, eh?” chaffed Dick Stamford.