"Chitty," I observed, "living is composed of a great many details. Take a bed, for example. You find them in lots of rooms, looking harmless enough. It is only when you analyze them, or, more correctly speaking, synthetize them—if that is, in fact, the word—that you realize their complexity."
"Yessir," said Chitty. "It's 'ard work for a gentleman, I dare say."
"Then dare say so no longer. On with our task."
"Very good, sir."
Gradually we reached the top of the house and the end of the infernal job. Helen appeared again. "Do we have tea?" she asked.
"How long since is it, madam," I asked sternly, "that afternoon tea became a necessity in your life? Shall we tolerate this aping of foreign customs?"
"I can easily make the madam a cup of tea, sir," Chitty cut in, a shade of anxiety in his tone.
"Then let the madam have her tea," I answered, "since her throat burns."
"Ted," said Helen, as Chitty disappeared, "how am I going to have any discipline among the servants if you persist in making a damn fool of yourself in their presence?"
"A what, madam?" I inquired.