“Oh no! Oh no!” cried Isabel’s voice. “That’s not fair to William. Be nice to him, my children! He’s only staying until to-morrow evening.”
“Leave him to me,” cried Bobby Kane. “I’m awfully good at looking after people.”
The gate swung open and shut. William moved on the terrace; they had seen him. “Hallo, William!” And Bobby Kane, flapping his towel, began to leap and pirouette on the parched lawn. “Pity you didn’t come, William. The water was divine. And we all went to a little pub afterwards and had sloe gin.”
The others had reached the house. “I say, Isabel,” called Bobby, “would you like me to wear my Nijinsky dress to-night?”
“No,” said Isabel, “nobody’s going to dress. We’re all starving. William’s starving, too. Come along, mes amis, let’s begin with sardines.”
“I’ve found the sardines,” said Moira, and she ran into the hall, holding a box high in the air.
“A Lady with a Box of Sardines,” said Dennis gravely.
“Well, William, and how’s London?” asked Bill Hunt, drawing the cork out of a bottle of whisky.
“Oh, London’s not much changed,” answered William.
“Good old London,” said Bobby, very hearty, spearing a sardine.