"It's enough to make a saint swear," answered Ruth, snappishly. "She's been locked in with Doctor Johnson since Saturday. Locked in! Only comes out for meals." Marjolaine laughed quietly to herself.
Sir Peter had been moving restlessly round the Walk. He now found himself face to face with Basil. "Pringle," he said, "can you tell me what's come over the Walk?"
Basil drew himself up. "The Walk has lofty ideals, sir," he said sternly. "Perhaps you have fallen short of them." He turned away and stalked towards Barbara's house.
The Admiral was left speechless. He—he! Admiral Sir Peter Antrobus—had been snubbed by Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, by Ruth, and now by this—this fiddler-fellow! He could only mutter, "Well!—blister my paint—!"
He was aroused by the booming of Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's voice.
"Yes, Ladies," that great man was saying, "Sherry was in fine condition on Saturday!"
The Admiral was not going to hoist the white flag. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn must be put in his proper place. "And port, too, eh, Brooke, my boy?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn eyed him sternly and haughtily. "My name is Brooke-Hoskyn, sir, and I was referring to my Right Honourable friend, Richard Brinsley Sheridan!"
"Why couldn't you say so?" grumbled Sir Peter.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn continued. "As I was about to say when—" he looked contemptuously at the Admiral—"when I was interrupted—What wit! What brilliance!"